In The Shadows
by Lady Catkin
Summary: Charlotte Durrows has brought up her now 22 year old son on her own in the north of England. A quiet and melancholy teacher that noone would suspect of an indcredible past until it threatens everything she holds dear, forcing her to finally face it...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Although not completely managing to disguise the nervous anxiety building up in the bottom of her heart, Charlotte continued to walk up the path that lead to the doorway regardless.

She took the black metal handle and pulled. She did not hear any movement from beyond the large oak door, nor hear the bell ring as she pulled it. She waited - her eyes wide with anticipation and her body unmoving apart from small controlled breaths.

The door creaked open and Charlotte took a step back in order to grant her and the person within an appropriate space by which they could occupy. The answerer was in the shape of a quite small and almost sinewy man. He was dressed like an English Butler, rather than what she had come to expect from French Butler's. His small flat forehead was contoured into a long thin nose that pointed down at the end like a beak. His grey tinged cheeks hung inwards and seemed to underline his gaunt expression. His thin lips wear clamped together until he opened them to pronounce a quick and polite greeting followed by an enquiry as to her visit.

Charlotte was almost pleased that her immediate inclination had been correct about this inexpressive servant. Although he spoke to her in French with a most appropriate accent, she could hear his native tongue within certain words; therefore she resolved to answer him in English.

"Good day. My name is Madame Durose and I wish to have an audience, most briefly, with the Viscount and Viscountess if I may" She followed this by a small smile, curling the sides of her mouth slightly and appropriately. This was France, but she was not afraid of being regarded as 'Anglais'.

"You are not within their immediate acquaintance Madame?" he asked, not remotely perturbed at the show of mutual understanding.

"No. I am not, however, we share a mutual acquaintance and it is in regards to this gentleman that I wish to speak with them about." Her tone had changed somewhat towards the aloof and her gait had altered. She held herself more staunch and upright, the very well practiced air of a lady.

"Please carry this note" she began, thrusting a small white envelope in the direction of the butler "to your employers, if you please". He made a slight bow which was greeted by a slight nod.

She stood in the sheltered doorway, which offered some solace from the damp January morning. She turned to face the gravel path she had just traversed and then turned her eyes towards the textured grey-white sky. It hadn't snowed for a couple of weeks and the ice had held off. It was simply a cold, damp and blustery day. There was a movement behind her – she turned, the soles of her shoes scuffed against the ancient stone slab that she stood upon. In the door stood a small woman, much younger than herself. She had an oval face, accentuated by the old fashioned, tight white cloth bonnet fastened tightly about her face.

"Bonjour" the girl smiled, followed by a polite curtsey, and then she asked

"vous aiment me suivre satisfont, Madame?" Charlotte retuned her curtsey more enthusiastically this time. This woman was barely out of girlhood and yet exerted greater manners than a servant who was not only her superior, but also from a country that was renowned for its people's manners.

Charlotte followed the servant into the entrance, with it's fine marbled floor which made her heels click against it. It was cool and bright and large sash windows flanked each side of the great door, pouring in masses of light that exposed the brightest hues of each piece of wood and every thread of fabric. It was certainly the seat of a rich and noble family – which one could have easily assumed resided no longer within France after the Revolution had removed the higher echelons of society.

Charlotte was lead into a fine reception room at the front of the house. Its walls were of an indiscernible patterned navy blue and a large grey stone fireplace rose with might in the centre of the opposite wall to the door.

It was here that Charlotte was bid to stay and the young woman exited the room backwards with her eyes downcast as if to make a sign of respect. How queer? Charlotte thought, little calling to mind that people often acted in this manner towards her. This realisation did not take long to manifest itself in her thoughts and she smiled sadly to herself with it. She had dressed in mourning since she was quite a young woman, a girl of seventeen and now she was one-and-forty.

A moment or two passed before the next interruption. This time it was the ill-mannered Butler who had answered the door and had left her stood there without a hint of his returning; except a stiff bow and a cold look.

Following him, as he held open the door, was first the Viscount and then the Viscountess. Charlotte's eyes drifted over the Viscount quickly and did not take much note of him, as they dearly wanted to take in the woman whom she felt had replaced her in the affections of someone she had mourned all these years.

The Viscountess was, in a word, beautiful. This immediate inclination left Charlotte feeling as though a blow to her very soul had been rendered. She had a perfect translucent skin that was as flawless as a porcelain doll. Her eyes were large and bright and perfect blue, unlike her own, which were more of a velvet dark blue with flecks of grey. Her bright blonde hair was elegantly arranged off her neck and gave her a sophisticated look. One would be excused in thinking it a preposterous notion that this woman was once a ballet dancer and rising soprano in her youth.

Charlotte turned her eyes away to the floor as the pain inside her rose anew and she tried to put it to one side. She was not here for her own ends and she berated herself for thinking of her own feelings.

The Butler hovered by the door, as if awaiting for some instructions to be issued by his master. "Hello" said the Viscount as he walked towards were Charlotte stood. Charlotte curtseyed as serenely as befitted a woman enrobed in ebony. The Viscount and Viscountess replied in the same fashion.

"Please, take a seat Madame" he motioned with his right hand towards a small arrangement of hand embroidered soft chairs clustered by the hearth.

"Thank you" Charlotte replied as they moved over to the chairs. The Viscountess sat next to her husband on a small couch with their backs to the door. Charlotte sat on the left of them on a single chair. She assumed that this was so that no-one was cast into shadow by the looming window that was just as magnificent as the two that resided by the entrance.

"It is so good of you to see me" Charlotte began.

The Viscount turned to his servant

"That will be all for now Leighton" he said and the stony faced man removed himself from the room without a sound.

"It is perhaps through curiosity maybe" the Viscount paused and looked thoughtful. Charlotte fancied that he was trying to find the correct English word to describe his thoughts and was finding it a troublesome task.

"It is very good of you to speak in English with me, as this is your home and I am but a visitor, may I therefore suggest we converse in French?" Charlotte waited nervously for their reply. That feeling that she had nursed on the way to the front door was gnawing at her insides now and she wished to spell out her business plainly and quickly.

"I think not" said the Viscount.

His wife, who had remained silent and motionless until then, turned her head to face him.

"I would rather you say what you need to say in your native tongue. Do not think that it will be lost on either of us as our understanding of your language is excellent. Besides, you are much more able to speak more comfortably and freely in your own language" he briefly glanced at his wife whose face had relaxed from query to understanding.

"Very well" Charlotte said, feeling slightly relieved. Although she had at one stage lived in France, her understanding of the language had lapsed over the years as she had not set foot in the country since shortly after widowhood.

"I realise that you may have been quite startled by my note, however, I did not think that you would both wish to see me unless I sent a note outlining our" she paused "mutual acquaintance". The Viscountess breathed out slowly and Charlotte noticed this but chose to ignore it.

"I wrote in the note that I wished to speak with you urgently regarding the gentleman you both knew many years ago by only the name of Erik". She tried to gauge their expressions but moved on quickly.

"He has had many names and descriptions over the years and the legend has surpassed the man. I have been back to the Garnier and do you know what they say? They say he really was a spectre, buried in one of the cellars! They say he killed a hundred men and other such preposterous notions. No doubt having spiralled out of control as rumours and stories of that nature can do. No, we know different, do we not? I knew him before you did, Madame, as I believe your acquaintance with this gentleman was different to that of your husbands"

She felt as though she was speaking out of turn and in a rather too familiar fashion and she could not afford to lose this audience that she could barely believe she had been granted. She decided to stop speculating and move on with more purpose and to outline her history as briefly as she could.

It hurt when she spoke of what her family had done to her to pull her apart from Erik and all the hell that her step brother had put her through since. She tried to put it all across as she spoke, hoping against hope that her history alone would ensure the safety of whom she sought it for, not for herself.

"You're family were cruel to plan such a thing, however, I can understand their concern and horror at their discovery of your union with Erik" said the Viscount, who had listened intently throughout.

"I know that if our daughter, who is of that age now, did something like that, and I too would be driven to extremes. I would not hurt her – never, but I could not be happy with the thought of her being married to someone, someone" he struggled to think of the correct word. Charlotte knew he was not trying to find an English word, rather an appropriate one.

"Like Erik?" she finished.

"Yes" said the Viscountess.

"You have related a history that tells us that you had eloped with this man and that your family by some means clearly discovered this. Why is this urgent? What has this to do with the present day? Did you simply wish to see us and tell us of your woe that was indirectly or directly caused by Erik? We both can understand the harshness of the misery Erik can cause" the Viscount paused here and looked at his wife's face, which was not as pale as it had been during the tale uttered by this Madame Noir.

"You are right" Charlotte agreed "I have told you nothing of my love affair with Erik, so that and my feelings for him may seem redundant and superfluous. I have just told you about the fury of my family. Yet, I can understand why you would protect your own child; however, I was never able to think of it as 'protection'. I was never that fortunate. My son's life is now in great peril."

The Viscountess shifted uneasily in her seat when she mentioned her son. Charlotte had not given much thought as to how these two people would react to the fact that she had not only married their Phantom, but also had his child.

"As I have said, I was married to Erik as a young woman and that I am from quite a powerful and influential family, even in France. I discovered I was pregnant only after they had torn Erik and I apart and then convinced me that they had murdered him. I had to escape. I was young and frightened. If they knew I was pregnant, well, I just don't wish to think about what they would have done to my son. It was because of this I had to flee France and my family and because of this I found myself in England and eventually the town of Coalcote in the North West. All those years I raised my son on my own and tried to make a new life for myself. I thought my husband was genuinely dead, my family were very persuasive." She grimaced at the thought of how they managed to do this and then continued.

"To avoid detection, I changed my name, in spelling only from Durose to Durrows" here she quickly spelt both names.

"My step brother James finally managed to track us down and we have had to flee. Each time we settled, we would have to flee. This happened until we ended up in London; it was here that we heard of the tale of the Phantom of the Opera and of your involvement with Erik. We had to travel to Paris to find out if it was true, what we had heard. From what I can tell, it is. This is why I am come. My step brother is not going to stop until he finds us and kills us, I am certain. Why they wish us dead after all these years, I do not know. This is why I am here." She sighed audibly with noticeable anguish.

"I know you do not know me and I do not know you. I know that the only thing we have in common is our sad experiences with a now almost mythical figure – yet, you are my last hope. I cannot see a direction in which I can turn and then traverse that leads to my son's safety. I cannot" she stifled a sob by lowering her eyes and bringing her handkerchief to her tightly closed mouth. She paused a moment longer and then continued.

"I ask you, as a parent and as a human being – help me"

"How could we possibly help you? If your step brother is so determined to have you both dead, I doubt that there is much we can offer –"the Viscount paused. He was being very helpful perhaps even unkind here. His wife placed her hand over his and turned to Charlotte whose lashes were now wet. It moved her to see this woman struggle so hard to keep her composure whilst under such clear distress.

"What help had you in mind Madame?" her husband shifted next to her. She did not care if he objected.

"Please, take him into your household, as a servant, as something. James would never dare approach you about one of your servants and if he tried to make you an offer or pronounce an accusation against him, he knows that you are of an upright character and would not stand for such debauched skulduggery." Charlotte's eye's were gleaming as she put across her proposal. A little more colour flushed into her cheeks, making her look a little younger in countenance.

The Viscountess smiled warmly at her. It must have been desperation that drove her to seek them, and how friendless must she be! She had no other acquaintance to recall other than the weak one she was endeavouring to acknowledge now.

"If we did employ him here, there is no guarantee that he would be safe. I could not vouch for his continuous security" the Viscount interjected.

Charlotte opened her mouth to utter another plea, but the Viscountess managed to speak before she did.

"It is right of you to come here and ask us for help. We are people of position and therefore it is our duty to try and care for those who are less fortunate than ourselves. What you propose is not outrageous and certainly executable." She said, nudging her husband who had now resigned to the fact that it was his wife's wish to allow this woman's proposal to take place and he nodded an approval at her.

"Then we can see what we can find for him" smiled the Viscountess who was looking at her husband.

"We shall find him a role. This house is outside of Paris and therefore perhaps outside of this James' sphere of knowledge." His wife brightened next to him and touched his upper arm as a sign of gratitude and affection.

"You must send for him directly, Madame Durose and have him received by the servants entrance, there he will be directed to Hortense, our house keeper who will grant him an occupation and board" as the Viscountess finished speaking, the window that overlooked the drive and the beginning of a dense forest rising either side of the it, was starting to become spattered with thick flakes of snow. All three turned and looked at the white specks clustering and then dispersing in great clusters whirling about behind the panes.

Charlotte made a move to indicate she was about to rise, and the other two rose with her. They stood silently for a moment, Charlotte desperately wanting to burst into tears with the relief of finding the haven she had sought for her son. She had not expected it to be as simple as this. She had expected them to at first be repulsed by the association they mutually shared. She had expected, perhaps a sympathetic ear, but a polite refusal at the end – yet there she stood, trembling with the effort of refusing to let the tears, heavy and burning in her lower lids, to fall.

She raised her handkerchief to her eyes and let the tears flow into them than down her face. "I'm so sorry" she finally managed "I just didn't expect such civility and compassion. I thought that all – hope – was "she gasped and buried her face in the white cloth she already held near. She felt mortified that she could not help but let this betrayal of emotion burst forth from her aching soul. She breathed slowly to compose herself and raised her eyes once more to the on lookers.

"I apologise once more" she managed.

"Do not apologise to us" said the Viscountess, placing a hand gently on Charlotte's shoulder.

"We are parents too and I can only imagine what we would feel like if we were in you place."

"Thank you" Charlotte managed to smile without her lips trembling. She was starting to feel awkward now and was conscious that the snow was becoming heavier and she must away now or she may not be able to make it home at all.

"I must go now, before this storm worsens and I get caught in a drift or am unable to see ahead" This sentence was punctuated by a wild howl of wind that travelled down the chimney breast and through the fire place.

"How do you intend on travelling back to the city?" asked the Viscount, turning to eye the growing swarm of flakes.

"By foot" answered Charlotte who was now pulling on her gloves.

"You walked here in the first place?" asked the Viscount "from the city?"

"Yes" replied Charlotte, now tugging her shall about her to ensure it would not come away during her journey.

"It is twenty miles to reach even the suburbs!" exclaimed the Viscountess who was crossing her arms to retain warmth and to quell a shiver that commenced at the very thought of going even going outside.

"You must not walk all that way now. I will have one of the drivers to prepare the old carriage for you. We use it on the rare occasions one of the servants needs to taken home in an emergency. Hortense and Leighton have it for their own business. It is a small reward for their devoted service; however, they use it rarely. Do not attempt to refuse this offer. We could not possibly be happy to think of you wandering about in the snow." The Viscount finished his final sentence as he pulled on a length of velvet rope hanging discreetly in a corner close to the door.

"I cannot accept your generous offer – you have already been kind beyond words"

"And then you will appreciate that we are the type of people who are not willing to think of any creature suffering." The Viscountess smiled once again at Charlotte. How warm and genuine her smile was and she was grateful to be bestowed with the sunshine of it once again. The Viscountess had perfect white teeth surrounded by pale rose pink lips to make up a small and elegant mouth. The pangs of jealousy Charlotte had once felt, after learning that the Viscountess had been once involved with her husband, although much against her will so she heard, rose anew. She buried them quickly. She knew that the Viscountess was aware of this and she did not want to cause an atmosphere – there was too much at stake.

To break the silence that had fallen over the room, the awaited servant appeared, an order was given and a nod and a small bow. The Viscount looked to Charlotte.

"Please follow this girl. She will take you to where the carriage will be made ready for you go home."

"Thank you" Charlotte smiled and turned to mark her respects to both the Viscount and Viscountess in turn, with a polite curtsey. "You are more than kind".

"And you are more than welcome" returned the Viscountess as Charlotte withdrew from the room, leaving both the Viscount and Viscountess looking on with curious expressions upon their faces.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Charlotte had asked the driver to leave her at the top of the street so that she could walk down to her lodgings alone. She alighted gingerly as the snow had fallen very thickly during the journey. She hoped that the driver would be able to get himself and his horses back to the great house before they either froze or became engulfed in a drift.

"Merci beaucoup. Ayez un voyage. Bonsoir." She said, but she wasn't sure he heard her as the snow seemed to snatch the sound away.

The coach sped off into the evening, leaving tracks on the slushy roads. She turned and walked to the pavement and stepped closely to the walls of the buildings, in case she needed to grope them to offer some support if the path underfoot became too treacherous. Inside the windows of the buildings she passed, were candles and lamps. She could not make out anything beyond a light within as condensation had formed on the inside, creating a screen of privacy within. She shivered as she passed each of these windows. They looked so warm and welcoming that she dearly wished she could step inside for a moment, despite being so close to her lodgings.

She came to some wrought iron railings that guarded the outside of a building that she could not distinguish the purpose of. It had small square windows dotted along the lower half, only interrupted by a double door that she had never noticed open. She did not cast her eye higher than the ground floor as the flakes were falling more rapidly than ever and melted on her face. She was grateful of the railings to hold onto, as they were only two or three feet in front of the buildings grey stone walls that loomed in the darkness.

After this building, was adjoined another that started on the same level as the railings of the previous. She knew that after this one, was an alley way which ran down the side of it and along the back of the next row of buildings, which is were she was headed. She crunched through the snow softly and deliberately. She did not wish to fall, even though her landing would have been partially cushioned by the snow.

She reached the ally and made her steps slower as there was nothing for her to hold onto. Her eyes were cast to her feet and the immediate ground before them, assessing each shadowy lump of snow and deciding whether she was able to tread on it or not.

"HMMPH!"

Her throat vibrated with the sound.

It could not come from her mouth because there was a hand tight over it and she was being forced backwards into the ally. She wanted to lash out with her arms but they were clamped to her side by the faceless assailant who had wrapped their other arm around them.

"Shhhhhh" the male voice whispered softly in her ear.

Her wild eyes suddenly closed and her whole body relaxed. She exhaled deeply with relief.

With this, the hand over her mouth was gone and the arm about her torso had retreated. She turned to face her son.

"What is it?" she whispered with urgency.

"I think we've been found out again Mam!" replied Alex in a whisper, but with an oddly amused look on his face that made his mother uncomfortable.

He took her arm and lead her further away from the street, into a almost pitch black recess in the wall at the side of the building she had just passed and placed her with her back against the wall, firmly in the shadows.

"I was reading in our room and there came this knock" he began.

"So I asked who it was, in French, and the reply was that some fella down stairs wished to speak to me"

"Who?" asked Charlotte, trying make her eyes adjust even further to the darkness both mother and son were in the depths of.

"Well, that's that thing. We are friendless in this part of the world, as you know. I decided to have a look first, which, I was right to do. It was him." He couldn't see if his mother was following him or not, but he continued.

"Well, I went back up to the room and packed our things that were out and shoved them through the window and I followed them. Then it began to snow. I've hid here since because I knew you would return this way and I didn't want them to get you before I could warn you." He paused again. "Looks like we're out in the cold. Again." He stifled a laugh. His mother nudged him with her elbow.

"Hush up" she said.

She knew he was the sort of lad that tried to see the brighter side of any situation that seemed bleak and she could not berate him too much for that. It was probably his good humour and wit that had kept them going all this time without just handing themselves over.

Alex left her side briefly and returned with a large, thick black cloak and placed it about her shoulders.

"There" he said "keep your hands in that, it should ward off the cold for a bit".

"Yes, thanks" she fixed the brass clasp at the top. She adored this winter cloak. It was given to her by the school she had been a teacher at in Coalcote. It was awful for her to have to leave them, but she had had little choice, like Alex.

"It does not solve our immediate problems though. We need to get out of here quickly and we need somewhere to stay tonight. We'll be dead by morning otherwise."

"Mam" Alex began, placing a hand on her shoulder "stop fretting, I know you and you're worrying, I mean, I can understand why, but we have not come all this way to be struck down by the elements".

He turned her round to face him, although he could not make out her features in the darkness, and gave her a hug. Charlotte was grateful to receive this gesture. Her whole world was her son and she loved him, like all good mothers, with all her heart. She pulled away from him, with purpose.

"Right. We need to find somewhere to stop tonight. I have some news to tell you, but I will tell you when we are in somewhere warm and safe" she whispered. Alex went to collect their bags, handing his mother a couple that he was happy she could carry without straining herself. He carried the heavier items in his hands or slung over his shoulder.

They secured a room for the night after some searching. It was not the nicest room or even the greatest locale, but it was secured against the elements and seemed clean enough in order to sleep and not contract some infection.

Alex spread his mothers cloak over the only chair in the room. A small, unstable looking wooden framed thing. It would dry, hopefully, by morning.

They both wrapped up as warm as they could against the biting cold that was very present in the room and nipped at their ears and toes. They cocooned themselves in all the available blankets and huddled up, sat up, side by side, on the tiny bedstead. Their arms were unable to move as they were inside the blankets.

A candle with a good few inches left burnt on, providing the only illumination and source of heat apart from their own bodies. Alex turned his head towards his mother next to him, her eyes half open, staring at the candle's flame.

"What is your news? Mam?" he rocked himself from side to side in order to nudge her and snap her out of her semi-trance.

"What?" she looked minimally surprised at being reminded of reality.

"Oh right" she said, before Alex could repeat himself "The news". She shuffled round a bit so that she could face him whilst she spoke.

"You know how I went off earlier today somewhere? Telling you that I could not tell you where I was going or why, but that I would be back later on?" she said, looking at Alex, who nodded.

"Well, I went to see some people who used to know your father, a long time ago, probably when you were only about three or four, when we still thought he was dead I mean." She stopped, gauging Alex's reaction. She knew his mind was quick and that he would realise whom she meant. She felt almost gratified when realisation swept across his dark features.

"What? That opera singer and that fella she chose over my father, like them stories we've been chasing, you mean? Them? Well-to-do aren't they?"

Charlotte smiled at his rather rough manner and to-the-point speaking. He was seldom eloquent with her and she loved the fact that his Lancashire accent was only ever audible to her. He had had to disguise it as well as he could when he worked at the great and grand manor house for the Mather family, it would not sit well for a young man of education to speak anything but correct, unaccented English – which he could do perfectly. Here, he was relaxed with his mother and spoke with a very slight accent, which is how he'd always spoken even as he was growing up.

"Yes. Them. And they are" she answered each section of his query as briefly as that.

"But why? They wouldn't be sympathetic to us would they? They were not treated too well by my father at all from what we've heard. He kidnapped her! Tortured him! Why would you want to speak to them? They would surely turn us in to 'Ole Jim' just to get back at my father." He shook his head and looked down, his cheeks moved as he clenched his jaw.

He had never referred to Erik as anything colloquial at all. It was always 'father' and nothing less formal. Charlotte had never encouraged it, but had never discouraged it either. He had never known his father and had believed he was dead, just as much as Charlotte had for all those years.

She breathed in deeply and without further hesitation, related to him what had been agreed and why she had gone to them for help. After she had finished speaking, Alex remained silent and contemplative, watching his mother's tired face speak. For the first time since before they had left Coalcote, she had an air of hope and it renewed her sad features once more. He was filled with doubt and suspicion, even his mother had said that she could hardly believe how generous they had been and so quick to take him in. He did not let this show. It made him happy to just see his mother rise from the pit of depression she had been falling into and he had felt almost powerless to rescue her from.

He felt he had to go along with her plan, if only to please her. His main concern, however, was not himself, but her. Where was she to go if he lived apart from her? Who would protect her? She would be alone and she would surely be discovered once more and then who knows. He resolved that he would not leave, even at the risk of vexing her.

"Mam, I am never going to leave you. If father is still alive, then we can find him together. We can escape this country, make our enquiries from a distant shore – anywhere where we can find solace. There must be somewhere!" he was getting passionate and had brought up his arms from within the blankets. Mouth length strands of brown-black hair slipped into his face and pushed them away with his hand. He sat forward, resting his arms on his covered up legs and his palms were pointing upward in appeal.

"No Alex, no." Charlotte pulled her hands free and turned round to face him, taking both his hands in hers.

"I am not as weak as you think. Or as helpless. I have treaded with caution all these years for fear that I may lose you. This deranged vendetta we find ourselves a part of has made me cautious and careful and never reckless. Alex. Listen. It is time now for you to be without me. Only for a little while. I must continue my journey without you and leave you somewhere safe, somewhere I believe you will be safe. No, don't shake your head at me. I know I have had to be both mother and father to you and I have never had a crossed word with you since you were little. You are a good man and I am so proud of you." Tears were stinging her tear ducts but she refused to let them appear.

"Then don't treat me like buried treasure. You cannot find a hole you think no man can discover and leave me there until you come back when the coast is clear of danger. My place is by your side, Mam. I'm 22 and I'm not a kid. " with this Charlotte released one of her hands from his and cupped his cheek.

"Oh love" she said "you are my buried treasure – you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You know how precious you are. I cannot put you in any more danger Alex, I cannot bear it! That is what drives a knife through my heart and soul. Please Alex – you must do this!" she could hold back the tears no more and she wept loudly and audibly. She had always managed to hide her tears from Alex, ever since he was born, so he was quite taken aback by the disclosure of emotion his mother showed. He knew it was humiliating for her to weep openly in front of him, so he wriggled free of the blankets and wrapped his arms around his mother who shook and heaved with the sobs she could not control. He could never leave her like this and resolved not to.

"How can I leave you now?" he said softly.

She pulled herself free from his grasp and raised her head to face him, her face wet with tears. "You can and you must. You cannot disobey me. You cannot say you'll stay and then run off after I leave you and follow me about. I know you Alex." There was such ferocious determination in her voice that it unsettled him.

"Mam" he began, but she silenced him with her index finger across his lips whilst she was taking in deep breaths to calm herself.

"This is where you get off and I carry on until the end of the journey" she wiped her face with her hand.

"I'm adamant about this Alex. Do not disobey me. You will go ahead with what I have arranged and you will stay at that house and be a servant of the de Chagny's. I'm sorry this hurts you love, but you must remain. I am not defenceless – it is just you have only ever known me as cautious. Don't doubt me. Oblige me. That is what you can do to make me happy."

Alex sighed, a deep soulful sigh. He looked down at his hands and faced them downwards onto his legs. She was resolute and he knew he had no other choice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Alexander was by nature a questioning individual. This made him an apt and eager scholar and had helped award him his various scholarships and tutelage, culminating in the former position he held at Brindley Hall with the Mather family.

His questioning and wonder at the world had begun when he was small. He would pester his mother from the moment he could speak with "Why?" whenever he was requested to do something, like go to sleep or to eat. When he was able to think more coherently, he would toddle about after his mother or one of the other occupants of the house in which they had lived asking "How come?" and "Why do you have to do that?". He was such a sweet and loving child that most people would suffer his questioning until they bade him to find another person to subject his queries to.

As an adult, although he was very well learnt for his years, his questioning nature had become slightly more sceptical, the more he learned via books and through life experience.

His mother's tale of the previous night had rendered his mind resonating with nothing but endless questions and as no answers were readily available, a sense of foreboding gripped him. It all boiled down to 'why'.

He left his mother at the foot of the drive way, which was lined in thick forest ahead and had created a roof over the drive by its entwined branches. It reminded him of his days at St. Anne's Catholic School on the outskirts of Coalcote for privileged boys. He had won a scholarship, which was subsidised by the diocese in which he lived.

He had never liked nor fitted into that school, and remembered feeling the same underlying woe as he passed the similar gate house and similar ancient stones that held the great wrought iron gates that loomed above his head. He shuddered as he passed through them, but continued to pursue his course up along the woodland road, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

The wind was biting at his ears and fingers and he pulled his cap down his head as far as he could in order to cover his stinging ears, but failed in his task. He settled with stuffing his left hand into his coat pocket and the other hand, holding his bag, found shelter inside the long sleeve of his rough brown coat.

He shuddered as he trudged through the snow. His mind forgetting the cold by being absorbed with the recent parting from his mother and all those endless questions that kept whirling in his mind, refusing to let him feel at peace. None of this made sense, especially the fact that his mother wanted to be parted from him. They were all each other had and now they were both on their own. This wasn't like when he was a tutor to the Mather's – he had always been able to come home and see his mother every single week. This was different and it felt so wrong it made him feel tense and made his heart thump hard in his chest.

His steps quickened without him noticing and his gaze stayed pinned to the ground. In his mind he replayed his mother's coach driving away into the distance and feeling so sad at seeing her leave. He remembered the ride from Paris that had taken place in almost silence and how angry it made him, not being allowed to question her and make her see sense. She had told him to remain in silence during the journey because they had fought when they awoke in the morning. He had been so passionate with his doubts and fears that she had had to raise her voice to him, which she had never done since he was small. How he wished he had ignored her instructions and spoke freely! He could never forgive himself if she were to find herself in trouble. Why did she have to follow up on these far fetched tales about his father? Even if they were true, why did she even care so much as to leave him and carry on her search, almost desperately, alone? He shook his head at these inward reflections.

His mind took this line of thought onwards and he could not help but allow for himself to do so. He thought about his father. He had apparently been murdered by his step uncle before he was born. He had been a recluse, he recalled his mother saying, and lead an unusual life; living beneath the Garnier Opera House in Paris, until his mother had met him and they had married in secret. The union was discovered, his mother never told him how and they were parted by force. All this he knew and yet, he had no real feelings about him. His mother would tell him stories about him all of the time and they were interesting, but in all, the opinion he had shaped about his father was that he was not the type of person that he thought he could have gotten on with. He seemed such an opposite to his mother, who was, on occasion, lively and imaginative and so loved by all who knew her. He seemed dull and two dimensional. This he had put down to the fact that he had never met him and now this stranger was controlling both his and his mothers fate's whether from the grave or otherwise. He did not like this notion and felt a stab of pain of concern and fear for his mother.

His mental ramblings had brought him to the house without him even noticing. He looked up suddenly when he noticed a change in the air about him and he thought he was walking off the track. He was almost shocked about how far he had walked and without even seeing this splendid building rising before him from the road. It truly was a unique building. It was as grand and ornate as Brindley, but much larger, as he could see the wings fan out further either side.

"Eck" he muttered as he gawped, raising his head to get a better look at the upper floors and the windows of the attic. He proceeded to walk slowly around the side of the building to locate the servants entrance, as his mother had instructed him to do. His head was still raised in wonder. He watched each pain of glass glitter in the daylight and revel in the extra gleam awarded to them by the white snow reflect from them.

He noticed a figure in a first floor window gazing back at him. It was a girl, of what age he could not tell, looking right back at him. He paused and looked up at her. When he did so, she stepped back, but a moment later walked right up to the pane and stared back at him. He was reassured that she was not a ghostly spectre come to welcome him, as her breath steamed the window in front of her face. He smiled at her, touching the brim of his cap as a sign of respect and trudged onwards in his quest. Something in the back of his mind told him that she had continued to observe him until he was out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The stage coach was cold, despite the amount of people crammed into it. Charlotte felt sorry for the horses more than for the drivers, who no doubt kept a nip of brandy in a handy container to keep out the cold.

The cold only crept up on her occasionally when she lapsed out of her thoughts due to someone coughing or the coach stopping. Her thoughts were focused on her task ahead. She was not going to allow herself to be worried about her son. She felt he was going to be in safe hands for now, until she found her husband that is.

She knew that the Viscount would honour her request and keep him safe for her from her family. She had understood Raoul, the Viscount, to be an honourable gentleman and he had given his word. Besides, a murder of a member of his staff would be most scandalous and she knew that no-one liked a scandal. This is what she had hoped at least.

She was now perusing her latest clue as to where Erik could have gone after he had left the Opera house. It had come from a meeting with an old acquaintance she thought that she would never see again, but necessity had compelled her to do so and she had made the pilgrimage to the house where her enquiries had informed her of where this person lived.

She had stood at the foot of the steps that lead to the door and hesitated. After all these years and everything that had happened, what could she expect? She held her breath as she ascended the worn grey steps and brought down the knocker onto the door twice in rapid succession. She exhaled.

A moment passed and Charlotte remained stood in front of the door, her eyes staring straight ahead and not focusing on anything at all. She heard a series of clicks and knocking sounds and the door suddenly swung open inwardly.

There she was and she had hardly changed. Charlotte's eye's widened and her mouth opened to say something that refused to come out. The woman that stood before her mirrored her expression and both had stood in the doorway for a short moment that felt like an eternity.

Charlotte was the first to break the trance of astonishment "I" she began, but hesitated. She had not given much thought as to what to say if she finally met her again. Her mouth closed again and she raised her gloved hands to form an expression of not being able to find the right words.

The woman before her, seeing her floundering took the initiative to end the awkwardness. She took a few steps forward and embraced Charlotte. Both women stood there with the wind howling about them and ruffling their skirts as they embraced. Charlotte closed her eyes tightly, firmly believing that when she opened them she would discover that this was a dream.

"Annette" whispered Charlotte, her voice quavering "I cannot believe it".

The other woman pulled away from the other woman gently and took her by the upper arms.

"I cannot believe it is you Charlotte, after all of these years! I thought you were dead!" exclaimed Annette. She shook her head, looking Charlotte up and down like a new piece of exquisite art work.

Both women went inside, both completely wrapped up in curiosity and both with so many questions to ask the other. Annette pulled Charlotte into a sitting room and bid her to take a seat whilst she arranged for some refreshment. Already present in the small but comfortable room was a woman who was sat by the window at the far end. She had been reading a book but now looked up at Charlotte who was smiling politely back at her and nodded.

"Bonjour, prenez svp un siège, mère sera de retour actuellement" said the lady, still smiling and gesturing with her hand towards the vacant seats about the hearth.

"Merci" replied charlotte who had raised her hand to her face to see if it felt as hot as she thought, for it must have been flushed.

The woman by the window looked down at her book and continued to read, the stranger held no more interest for her. Charlotte perceived this and decided to remove her hat, shawl and gloves, placing them next to her as she sat. Annette entered the room and took a seat opposite Charlotte, with a slightly bemused look upon her face.

"I still cannot believe it is you!" she began, leaning forwards and taking Charlotte's hands. "You were dead to us all, all these years! Oh Charlotte! So much has happened with me and the opera house and of course with" she looked down at Charlotte's hands briefly, as if to muster some courage to say her next word "Erik". Charlotte smiled warmly at her hostess.

"Do not worry on that score. I have heard enough rumours from what happened with Christine Daae. It was only in the past few months though that these stories reached me and I resolved to find out if they were true. So we packed up our belongings and set out for France to see what we could find. I've heard so many differing stories, Annette, now I want to hear from your lips what actually happened so that I may decide what to do next." Charlotte had finished speaking but noticed a puzzled look on Annette's face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We? Who is your companion?"

Charlotte sighed. They had so much to catch up on and explain and so she endeavoured to do so. She explained everything, from fleeing France, to ending up in Coalcote in the north west of England and having to bring up her son alone. She explained events right up until the present. When she had finished speaking, Annette let go of her hands and sat back in her chair. Her gaze wandered off and she had brought her fingers to a point under her chin as if in contemplation.

Charlotte was the first to break the silence.

"What?" she enquired, leaning as far forward towards her companion as much as she could.

Slowly, Annette shook her head and lowered her eyes.

"All those years" she said bleakly "All alone for all those years. Oh Charlotte, I wish you could have come to me. I would have protected you somehow. Oh dear, dear Charlotte." Tears began to well up in her eyes. Charlotte left her seat and knelt by her side, taking her hands in hers.

"Do not be sad Annette. I have had in my heart enough sorrow for both of us over the years". Charlotte stretched out her arms and held her friend until her tears of empathy and pity wear spent.

She resumed her seat when she felt that Annette was consoled. She turned to look at the woman who was sat at the window to see if she had noticed the conversation or the incident that had just taken place. Charlotte's look was greeted by the woman who held the same expression as Annette had held when she had opened the door. She had put down her book and had turned away from the window to sit straight-on to Charlotte, no doubt to listen to the story.

"Vous êtes celui qu'il a aimé avant Christine? I had no idea. Mere, why did you not tell me of this lady?" said the woman who now was on her feet and approaching the two by the fireplace.

"Charlotte" Annette said, looking away from the approaching figure.

"This is my daughter Margaret" Annette said, raising her hand towards the woman approaching them.

"Meg" corrected the woman who was now sat next to her mother in order that she may observe this new acquaintance.

"Hello Meg. I knew your mother when you were only a young girl. I remember you had long blonde hair then and danced about in the salles de pratique at the opera house."

"I do not remember you" said Meg, narrowing her eyes as if trying to remember something that was proving hard to grasp in her mind.

"I do not think you would have met me more than once of twice if that, but I saw you often, even though I doubt you saw me" Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"Is this because you were with the opera ghost? The one that fell in love with Christine Daae?" Meg enquired.

"Meg!" exclaimed her mother "you are a grown, married woman with three children and act more like a child than your youngest does at times. Restrain your impertinence." Meg looked sheepishly at her mother and then at Charlotte. It was curiosity that had compelled her to forget her graces.

"I apologise" said Meg shyly.

"No, don't be. I would be just as pressing as you, should our roles be reversed. You were friends with Christine I seem to remember, is this not the case now?" Charlotte entreated.

"We were friends, yes, but we see little of each other now. I have three of my own children, as my mother has pointed out and she has four. She is also of rank as well and has some responsibilities now that she cannot neglect. We are not children anymore and I wish her well." She explained, with an air of indifference about her.

Annette tightened her lips together and shifted uneasily in her seat.

"They were like sisters growing up in the ballet corps, then when Christine married Raoul, it was as though that relationship meant little to her, even before she had her first child, Elise and she had some time to spare. Then when Meg married, I suppose, their lives took different paths and they followed them. I just wish that they had remained better friends, that is all." Annette bit her lip and then sighed, placing her hand on Meg's knee for a moment.

A thought that had never stuck Charlotte until that point suddenly hit her and she almost blurted it out but managed to inject enough decorum into to it's execution that her worry seemed over looked when she posed it.

"Was Elise, Christine's eldest child, the daughter of Raoul? I mean – what I meant to say was" she stopped, helpless to continue that trail of thought.

Meg answered her quickly, smiling at the notion put forth.

"Oh no Charlotte! It was more than a year after she married Raoul that she fell pregnant with Elise! She has her mother's slender frame though, which makes her so very elegant. She's tall too, like her father's family. She is a beauty like no other and will make a brilliant match no doubt, when she is debuted, which I believe is no more than a season or two away."

Charlotte smiled broadly, flashing her teeth and let out a quiet laugh, which was reciprocated by the other two.

"Even if Christine had gone back and they had had an affair, this child is certainly her father's daughter and that is the Viscount" laughed Annette.

Charlotte sighed and felt contented, now she must hear about what had happened at the opera house in her absence and discover if there was any information about how she may find her husband. The tea that Annette had arranged arrived and as this was consumed, Annette and Meg relived in as much detail as they possibly could the tale of _le fantôme de l'Opéra_.

The coach stopped outside the hôtel de ville in a rustic village near Dijon, then sauntered tentatively down the street towards a tavern or inn. Every part of her ached, but the cold had decreased. This was no doubt due to numbness setting in. She alighted the coach because it would remain here for the night now before moving onwards. She still had a long journey to make.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The fourth week came without Alex even noticing it arrive. His time at Château de Chagny had not precisely flown by, but he had decided to cease to register a calendar and only a clock, which bade him work, rest or eat. He had settled in moderately well, sleeping in the Garçonnière of the house with the other men. He had dreaded his nationality would blight him and he would be made to live in some other undesirable situation which would be afforded to him.

On his arrival, he had been taken to meet Hortense, the house keeper, before he could remove his hat or coat. He was asked to stand before her in her small parlour which doubled as an office, for she sat behind a desk, eyeing him warily.

"You English?" she had said, with a thick French accent, the English words forcing their way out of her mouth. "Yes" he had replied, but continued the rest of the conversation in French, much to her surprise. He was both gifted in fluency and accent, which made him appear as though he was not so much from France, but another French speaking land.

It turned out that his occupation was to be aiding in the winter repairs of the ancient building. Gail's had loosened tiles and rain had seeped in to the cellars. He was to aid the small team of men to help restore and revive each ailing section of the dark and gloomy mansion. He had no objections to this work; He had actually imagined that he would be doing something far worse and was most relieved to be undertaking such tasks.

Now he was into his fourth week. He had not mentioned the fact that he was English, unless someone asked him, which was extremely rare. He was just simply treated like another of the labourers and little conversation was passed between him and his colleagues. This situation, although not ideal, he preferred and he took to each task easily and quietly.

February had set in harshly, more so than anyone could recollect for this time of year. Alex constantly heard mutterings from the other men and women, complaining about the cold and the fact that so many staff had been taken ill, leaving everyone short handed. Alex had been asked to help with the repairs to the roof of the brewery in the grounds and then to help fix the chimney of the old grey stone bakery. The thought of being outside in the chill of the air made his teeth chatter. He wrapped up as warmly as his sparse collection of clothes would allow and followed the others out into the bleak February morning.

When he returned in the evening with the others, he was trailing behind them. He knew he was feeling unwell and that he was coming down with a fever. His hands felt clammy, even in the cold and his head felt hot and beads of sweat made their way down his head and back. As soon as he entered the building, the change of temperature from the outside to the inside made him lose his balance and he caught himself from falling by holding out his arm to an obliging door frame.

He slowly crouched to the floor, trying to resist the fact that his knees were no longer functioning and allowing him to stand. Then, without warning, a cold sensation at the back of his head coupled with a strange buzzing sound arrested him and darkness descended.

He awoke slowly, trying to understand where he was and how he had gotten there. His eyes were blurred and he felt unbelievably cold. He tried to move, but the effort made him nauseous and he let out a sharp breath of frustration.

Then a hand. On his forehead. It was a small, cool hand. He couldn't work out where it came from or ascertain an owner. He turned his head to try and see, but his eyes refused to let him see much further. Then a voice.

"Plais ne se déplacent pas! Vous vous tendrez et vous rendrez plus faible! C'est tout exact. Silence maintenant. Essai et sommeil."

Then a face.

Alex groaned. His blurred vision subsided as though he had been seeing an image from a cave behind a waterfall and now he had passed through it and he could see the image clearly with nothing to mar it, except perhaps, poor light.

The first thing he thought was that he was dead. The face before him, he had seen a month before when he had arrived at the great building and was walking along the side to seek out the servant's entrance in order to be received. It was that almost ghostly visage that he had seen looking at him from the upper floors, her breath frosting the window. Now there she was and she was beautiful, like an angel. He must have died and the ghost of the house had come to take him away, he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a hoarse cough.

"Monsieur, please" the angel said and she leaned over him. "I shall speak to you in English, yes, and you will understand me better" the angel said. Even her voice has other worldly, like a small silver bell, it shone and chimed sweetly.

He closed him eyes as the hand resumed its position on his forehead and then stroked his hair. He fell into a deep and impenetrable sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Charlotte had made it to Switzerland, and stood atop a great ravine looking over the fine view, her thoughts with her letter and her son's reaction to the culmination of both her and Ellen's combined efforts. The air, from where she stood soothed her lungs and flushed away the aches accumulated from days of travelling. Now she revelled in it and the mottled grey sky above her warning of showers did not repel her from taking in the brisk morning air.

Her eyes opened as a spatter of rain fell onto her face and brought her back to reality. She looked down to ensure that the uneven ground was safe as she walked and she cautiously made her way back onto the road and into the village where she was staying.

It was not this particular village that she was interested in, but more the following one slightly further south. It was only eight miles by foot from where she was staying at the moment and she could easily walk there and back when she decided to go. She wanted to go as often as she could, but she had decided to bide her time a little. She could not work out if this was due to precise and calculated manoeuvring or the relentless fact that she was scared witless of would could happen. She tried to convince herself that it was the former and never the latter in an ailing attempt at promoting her motivation to continue in her efforts.

It was in the village eight miles away from where she was that her final clue to the whereabouts of her supposedly long dead husband had lead and it was there that she was bound when she had left her son in France. She had taken Annette Giry's help by way of a letter she had given her in her husbands hand writing. This letter was dated after he had left the house below on the lake, under the Palais where he - no they - had once lived.

It would appear that he had lived on there after her step brother had apparently 'killed' him and made her believe he was now dead. He had had no choice but to leave after what happened with the former soprano. He had killed and intrigued too many people by that point and besides, his lair was discovered, as she had found out when she had been to the Opera House herself and paid a little extra to the guide to see the catacombs below.

She remembered feeling so angry that her teeth chattered as she wandered from room to room with the guide as he had tried to conjure up tales of murder and bizarre nonsense that made the other tourists squeal and laugh. She felt so disgusted by the end of the small tour, they had desecrated the home she had briefly shared with Erik all those years ago and now brought people down into it to make money. Perhaps that was what Erik had meant when he told her why he was a misanthropist.

Now thanks to Annette, she was eight miles away from his last known location. She had resolved to walk down much later in the evening when all was dark and peaceful. For her, the night was the best part of the day, especially when she was living in Coalcote. It was quiet with no voices and no cart wheels rattling on the cobbles on the way to or from the neighbouring pit.

Now the night was her life. She adored the ambiguity of the shapeless objects before her when she wandered. She could do as she pleased with no eyes to watch or to judge, just as Erik had said were the reasons he preferred darkness to light. There was no-one to please, no-one to observe and she felt she could truly be herself when she walked in the darkness of the night.

Now the approaching night was something to be dreaded. She was going to go when it was as black as it could be. She felt more confident in the night and the freshness of the air in those hours gave her the spirit she lacked to complete her journey during the daytime. She was resolved to undertake her first meeting with Erik in almost twenty-three years. It had her heart pounding harder at the mere notion, but she had to. She truly believed that if she could convince him to return with her to France, they could both tackle James and protect Alex together. She believed it with an almost delusional certainty. She knew it was wrong to think in such a way, but she could not help herself. She was getting to lose all hope now, having been discovered over and over again, every time they settled somewhere, James would find them, either in person or by sending someone on his behalf who would ask questions about the pair.

Besides, she was weary of running and never turning to fight. Now it was time to fight, she believed and she was certainly not going to do it on her own. She cared not about her own safety but for Alex's and even if Erik had no feelings left for her, after all, he probably thought she was dead as much as she did him, it was still his son that was in jeopardy.

The night was as dark as she had hoped, she mused as she looked out of the window of her small but comfortable room at the top of a local families house, which they let out to visitors to the village. They saw little of each other as Charlotte was out for most of the day walking and the Dumoulin family worked most of the daytime and sometimes into the evening. Her conversational French was not excellent and their English was very poor, but they were warm and welcoming nonetheless.

Tonight was no exception in terms of mutual absence. Only Mrs Dumoulin was about down stairs with some of the younger children and the older boys and her husband were out. She determined this through listening to the pitch of the voices and none of them were deep. They no doubt thought she was very strange by the fact she had stayed a month in the top of their house, dressed in black and spent most of the time rambling about the countryside. For a woman of her years it did seem very strange, however, she had hoped they would take her for an English eccentric who was taking some time in another country with a fresher climate to perhaps deal with the loss that she was clearly mourning.

Charlotte fixed her long black cloak about her neck, fixed her hat onto her hair and then pulled on her black gloves, lined with rabbit fur. She took a look at herself in the mirror, her face was white and becoming gaunt as she ate little. When set against her dark blonde hair that she could see from under her hat, she looked quite odd in her paleness. The black she was draped in made the overall appearance seem almost haunting as it accentuated her white face and dark eyes where shadows had appeared.

She left the room after extinguishing the lights and taking with her the key to her room, having locked it softly after her. She had then left the house and proceeded down a thin track that lead to a wider track, leading to the village, eight miles along it. This was not her first trip along this road as she had gone directly to that village as soon as she had found lodgings and had her trunk brought to her room by Mr Dumoulin.

She had asked the way to Boulen and had almost raced there on foot. She had arrived and had tried with uneven decorum to stealthily look about the village to see if she could see Erik anywhere. A thousand questions raced through her mind that day and she tried to answer as many as she could, for the sake of her own sanity. She had wandered about, looking as though she was a tourist, feeling very uncomfortable that she was on her own as a woman in mourning, despite the fact she had been in mourning for the past twenty three years.

She had wandered about the main street, which unlike Loaire where she was staying, was dotted with fine wooden buildings that contained shops with tiny windows and doors, only differing from the houses themselves by the signs above the doors and most of which were simply painted on. She felt out of place, especially as this small and quaint village bustled about her and people gave her curious glances. She was starting to stick out and that was the last thing that she had wanted to happen. She retreated into a bakers, resolved to hide from the villagers for a moment or two. The baker was just as curious with her; however he welcomed her with a broad smile and asked her if he could help. She returned the smile and had said she was a visitor to this region and if she could perhaps buy a roll from him. He warmly uttered a welcome to Boulen and sold her the roll and had her sit whilst she ate it on a small chair that was by the window.

She was grateful of the rest and for the station by the sill so that she may observe the passers by undetected. She ate her bread slowly so that she may maintain her concealed post for as long as she could. Nothing of interest passed before her eyes, only local people, men, women and children going about their business. Some with animals, some with carts but all with purpose, either moving along rapidly or stopping to speak to someone they had just seen. She envied their society as she felt so out of place and almost wrong in her task, but she did not lose heart.

A high pitched chattering and a cacophony of giggles sounded from the right of the small window, warning that there was a group of young women about to walk along the street. She waited to see them, with some interest. The other people who traversed this main road along the village centre did not make such a racket and she therefore took it to be a gaggle of school girls. This too struck her as odd as there did not seem to be any discernable building that served as a school in this village, as the nearest school, she had discovered was a mile away in the opposite direction.

Shortly the wait had been over and to her surprise, the owners of the voices turned out to be young ladies. Charlotte was surprised by the way in which they were dressed. They were elegantly and quite richly dressed, not school girls at all. Their ages seemed to range between mid-teens and late twenties. They walked along, fifteen or so in number, some arm in arm, some simply walking alone quietly. She watched them with interest; these women dressed as though they were great ladies of rank and circumstance that were better suited to the fashionable areas of Paris or London than a tiny village on the French-Swiss border.

She rose from her seat to look closer through the glass as the women in walking habits passed by in their beautiful clothes and bright and happy faces, full of animation. As they disappeared out of her view she turned around, deciding to wrap her roll in her handkerchief and eat the rest later. As she looked up, the baker had been replaced by a short, stout but bonnie looking woman with thick grey plaits neatly tied upon her head. She smiled warmly at Charlotte and asked her if she had liked the bread, as she was wrapping the remainder up.

"Oui" Charlotte had replied, but then, she took the opportunity to ask her about the group of young ladies and what they were. The woman laughed heartily at the question, saying that she had little remembered that Charlotte was but a stranger to this place and did not know about the House of Music.

Charlotte had pressed the woman about this 'house' and it was this information that provided the final clue to her investigations. As the woman spoke, Charlotte was filled with excitement and was eager to just fly through the door and run after these girls, following them back to their _Maison_ and finally meeting their master. Her limbs chattered with the exertion of keeping them from moving and Charlotte asked more and more questions from this lady, who was not at all unable to continue.

The questioning only came to an end when the door from the street opened and an elderly lady tottered in. Charlotte said her thanks and left quickly, mulling over what she had been told. Now she walked slowly down the street in the direction of the fine young women. Just as she was doing right now.

The little lights of the houses made the street, as one walked along it, seem as though fairies had snuggled into a little hollow against the cold for the night. Charlotte wished more than once that she could do the same as a wind had now kicked up the small patters of rain that blew intermittently about her, lashing her face. She pulled the small black veil from the rim of her hat as far down as she could, which was only over her eyes, but the wide netting still allowed in the occasional drop.

Charlotte had never been this far to the house before, she did not before now dare. She knew her husband was a clever and secretive man who could rig any number of traps to ensure any unwanted person was either convinced to leave or disappear all together. She had therefore been only able to view the house from a distance, which she tried to do as little as she could, but tonight, for no particular reason, she felt she must proceed all the way to the entrance.

The building was old, ancient almost and she wondered how the neighbouring tiny villages had tolerated such an ostentatious neighbour. In the dull of the night, it looked much bigger than it had in the day light. It was like a Chateau from the Loire valley in France, yet it was more of a house than a mansion. It was a strange but oddly appealing construction, which she knew Erik would have found attractive. It had three visible floors above ground level and high battlements along the roof. These were merely decoration rather than of any real use and were like the quoins of the great Opera House by Garnier that stood in Paris; they had little structural support but made it look strong and gave it shape.

The windows of the upper floors were dark and empty, looking like gaping mouths belonging to some breed of fearful creature. The moon chose to hide and then reveal herself in unpredictable spasms that illuminated the house and then cast it into utter depthless black. This shifting from dull light to utter blackness made it difficult for Charlotte to pick her way across the rocky stone path on her to the house. How those girls managed this quite treacherous terrain in their dainty shoes and long, delicate skirts she did not know.

The girls, she thought. The woman in the boulangerie had told her about whom they were and where they resided. They did indeed belong to this austere building rising now before her, as they were all students of music. Apparently wealthy and sometimes not so wealthy families who wish to indulge their daughters with their musical 'talents' sent them to this quirky finishing school. It was still considered important for young ladies to be accomplished as musicians as well as speakers of foreign languages, embroiders and other such frivolous qualities thought as desirable by old fashioned families with old money, in order to attract husbands.

Charlotte had smiled at the notion of such a school and the fact that the parents of these girls allowed them to attend it. Such are the indulgences of wealthy and mislead parents, mused Charlotte. She had been a teacher at a medium sized primary school in Coalcote and her idea of a music school were the after-school piano sessions she used to run in the assembly hall where students who excelled or were well behaved were allowed to learn piano from Mrs Durrows and listen to others whilst they played. She sighed, ringing her hands against the cold, despite the fact they were gloved.

Now she was at the door. This surprised her because she had expected Erik to have secured his house against anyone creeping up on it in the night, like he had done in the house in the fifth cellar at the Opera House where they had both once lived. Perhaps he had seen her coming and did not consider her a threat. She did not know and neither cared if he did or did not. The time for concealment was over and it was time she at last laid her eyes upon his face for the first time in twenty-three years.

Although she had no direct evidence that it was in fact Erik that lived here and directed the school, the woman from the bakers had been certain that a most mysterious gentleman was the director of the school and seldom came into the village. The woman said she had only ever seen him once or twice since the school came to the nearby and formerly derelict house, almost twenty years ago.

Charlotte was certain this had to be Erik. She had read and then re-read a million times the letter he had sent to Annette from the village after he had fled from the Opera House. He had told her he had found a place where he could live again and concentrate on music and invite others, one day he had written, to do the same. It was just as he had wished this great building with its renowned reputation for teaching music.

She suddenly felt nervous. What if she was wrong? She stood still, pausing too long she felt and had to stop her feet from walking from the black gaping hole that was the recess before the door. This was a different type of nervousness that gripped her than the one from the doors of the Chateau de Chagny. This was almost excitement, like a child on Christmas Eve unwrapping a present they had long been expecting.

She could not distinguish a bell or knocker, so chose to knock as loud as her numb knuckles would permit. The sound seemed lost on the door and sounded dull and pathetic to her ears. She let out an audible sigh and took a step back to see if the windows above her were animated with activity of someone coming to open the door, yet they remained blank and lifeless.

She closed her eyes as another moment passed by without a noise from within. Her thoughts were beginning to gather now and she wandered what she would even say to anyone if they opened the door. What if it was him that did? She had not even thought of that and she felt stupid for not doing so. What if he has truly moved on? What if he's not pleased to see her after all these years or care that he has a son he has never known? She was gripped by feelings of doubt and dejection and she very nearly allowed her nervous feet to escape. Then the door opened.

Her breath halted in her chest, halfway out and her eyes became wide as her jaw tightened. A warm glow of orange-yellow light poured over her like the dawn over a black night and before it stood a young lady. She was shorter than Charlotte, but extremely pretty. That was all Charlotte thought when she looked at her face. Her yellow hair was piled ornately on top of her head and she was dressed in a deep green ball gown. Charlotte barely noticed how she was attired at first.

"Est-ce que bonsoir, je peux vous aider?" the young lady asked with a sweet smile on her face. The breath that she was holding escaped her and she replied almost breathlessly, stammering a salutation and if she could possibly speak to the master of the house. She felt it was a safe request, without naming names, although she would feel even more ridiculous if she was completely wrong. She was taking a risk, but she did not care anymore.

The girl smiled warmly at Charlotte, which went partway to making her feel more secure about the situation. The girl bid her to follow her inside, which Charlotte did, being grateful of the warmth at the very least. The entrance was not particularly big, as far as the small wall lights could let her see, but it seemed to be warmly decorated and ample for whatever purpose she supposed it had.

The young woman walked ahead of her but at a pace, almost in a rush, but not quite. Charlotte had to watch where she stood in case she caught the back of her large billowing green gown.

They reached an arched doorway at the far end of the deceptively long hallway that lead directly from the initial entrance. Inside, Charlotte could discern chatting and music being played, as though a ball or dance was being held within. This would at least explain her guide's dress. She thought it would be a good idea that if Erik was within, then whilst all the other people present were enjoying their dancing and chatting, she could discreetly steal him to one side and their meeting could go from there.

The girl thrust open the door quite dramatically and there within was a magnificently bright and warm room within. She could not make out the décor, only the exquisite occupants within in their beautiful gowns. Charlotte could not see a male anywhere within the immediacy of her vision, only women, dancing with each other or on seats at the side chattering to each other and fanning themselves. Charlotte stood in the mouth of the doorway, simply taking in the splendour of the ladies and the room, when her companion from the door walked a little forward and announced in a loud voice;

"Nous avons des dames d'un invité. Regard !"

The swirling gowns and smiling faces ceased in their occupations to turn and do as the girl had commanded and look at their visitor. Even the music halted. Charlotte felt as though every eye in the room was on her and she felt blood rush to her head and burn her cheeks. She nodded meekly in the general direction of the crowd of what must have been at least four or five dozen women.

"Eh, hello there" she managed, forgetting to say it in French.

Whispering ensued as the women leaned towards their neighbour without taking their eyes off Charlotte. She heard one say something along the lines of 'Anglais', which must be a reaction to her speaking in English.

"I think I've come to the wrong place" she began, looking about her and not seeing any sign of the master.

"I think I should leave, I –"she stopped. Something cold suddenly chilled her thawing skin, like a sharp breeze.

"Why give up so easily?" a voice whispered gently in her right ear, but there was no breath to it.

Charlotte's eyes became wide once more and she held her breath. It was him. His voice. She had not heard it in so many years, could she be wrong? She had heard it in her sleep when she dreamt and she had awaked each morning weeping. Maybe she was wrong, could she be? Was she hearing things?

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists either side of her and she buried them into her thighs through her layered black dress. Involuntary tears poured down her cheeks and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to not let out a sob which was screaming to be set free.

She opened her eyes to see curious faces belonging to the women, who now had cleared a path that lead from where she stood to the other end of the room. She slowly walked forward, moving her arms around her torso to stop herself from convulsing with sobs.

As she approached the other end, she saw a gentleman sat at the other end. He was wearing a white shirt that was unbuttoned a quarter of the way down and had on no jacket. He was wearing black boots that were over his pants in the same fashion that was now passé from the earlier half of that current century. He was sat up straight on one of the gold gilded chairs that ran about the walls of the room for the dancers to rest upon. He stared at her hard and with a serious expression.

Charlotte stopped about two metres away from this man, as her strength was gone and her body refused to let her walk another step. Her diaphragm ached with the strain her emotions were putting on it and it needed to be released. When she did, she felt calmer and less willing cry. She simply stood before the seated man, returning his stare, except her eyes where wide with wonder and red from the tears.

"Hello Charlotte" the gentleman said, rising to his feet, but maintaining the distance between them.

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something in return, but all that came out was a half concealed sob which she bit her lip as a means of scolding herself for letting her emotions free at this moment. Charlotte momentarily forgot what it was that she was doing there; the man before her was an older version of Alex. He had the same features and black hair, although greying and quite long, but it was tied back. She never remembered Erik letting his hair grow that long, but things had clearly changed.

She had been told was dead. Her family had gone to cruel lengths to prove this too. She shuddered at the memory of what they did and dismissed it as it was clearly a lie. He was alive and she had found him at last. It was Erik Durose, her husband.

"Are you well? You seem out of sorts" he ventured in response to her silence. She thought it was a most peculiar way of greeting the wife he had thought was dead. Every inch of her ached to reach out and hold him and forget about the years of misery his loss had caused her.

"I am well, thank you Erik" she managed, a smile breaking free from her lips as she spoke.

"Good" he returned. He looked up at the assembled women who looked on with even more curiosity.

"Oh pay us no heed my dears" he said, addressing them. "Please continue with this pleasant evening. This is a dear old acquaintance of mine and there is much to discuss between us, now" he turned to the women who were sat with various string and woodwind instruments in their hands "play!"

The women did as he said and the music and frivolity ensued, leaving Charlotte and Erik staring at each other. Charlotte moved to one side, still with a gap between her and Erik.

"You don't seem too surprised to see me" she stammered, unable to rip her gaze away from his great eyes. She didn't care for further conversation now that he held her gaze. The words that had just passed her lips felt like the last she could ever manage as she felt numb with the shock of seeing him after all of this time.

"I was expecting you" he said, not blinking.

This sentence snapped her out of her trance and she gathered some of her senses.

"What?"

"I have been waiting for you. I mean, it was only a matter of time before you found me was it not? When I discovered you had made your way to here, well, I was pleasantly surprised. It has been a lot of years after all". He folded his arms.

"How do you mean 'expecting' me? They made me believe you were dead. Annette said they did the same to you! H-how do you m – mean, how long have you known I was alive?" her voice was strained as she did not want to shout and she felt more and more hysterical, but she curbed it as much as she possibly could.

"I've known you were alive since the moment I got the hand, pleasant thing it was, I buried it too. Thought it was a shame, it did actually belong to someone." with this, he smiled as if finding the whole situation from the past amusing.

Charlotte found herself barraged with raging and conflicting emotions that tore her soul and heart into fragments whilst she stood there before him, her eyes on the floor glancing side to side as though she was trying to register the information he had given her and not being able to comprehend it.

"You knew all along that I was alive!" she blurted out, attracting the attention of some of the nearby girls. Her breath was hot and quick in her lungs and she panted harshly.

"Yes" Erik said smiling, as if it were some amusing subject he was recalling.

"Then why didn't you contact me? Why did you leave me to the mercy of my family? Why!" tears were pouring down her cheeks and her usually pale and even face was red and her forehead was furrowed.

The whole room now paused once more and music ceased again; the girls started to gather nearby, but not too close to the blazing new comer. They looked on with interest to see what would happen next and Charlotte was aware of this, but did not care who was there and what they saw. She had spent her entire adult life being careful and unassuming, trying to be a good mother to her son and an apt teacher that children would aspire to be like.

Now she had let down her guard and her usually checked emotions poured free after years of suppression. She felt anger and betrayal and for the first time, it was directed towards Erik and not her wretched family.

"I thought you would have been better off with them. After they came for you, I felt that you were better off without me. They would care for you, surly" he offered, eyeing the gathered women.

"You abandoned me! You abandoned me to hell!" she yelled "never mind looking at them as though I'm this madwoman you let in! Is their opinion of your character that important that you treat this like a joke?" her mouth was open and she panted through it, her ears now red and burning.

"Please compose yourself Charlotte" he said, taking a couple of steps forward, which she replied to by backing away.

"Compose?" she sobbed.

"Can we discuss this somewhere private please, there is no need for an audience" with this he gestured with his hand towards a nearby door that she presumed he wanted her to enter with him. She backed away again and then turned.

She wasn't thinking now. Each foot fell in front of the other and her brain guided her back the way she had come whilst her mind was reeling. The tears were now free to roll down her face as they saw fit and did so in abundance and blurred her sight. She wiped her eyes with the edge of her heavy black cloak and walked on towards the door.

The disembodied voice in her ear again told her to stay and she simply brushed her ear as if to swat a fly buzzing in her ear. She continued her course to the door, then a hand grabbed her arm and with some force spun her round to face it's owner, which was Erik.

"What did you expect? That after all these years I would be overjoyed to see you again? Did you expect I'd welcome you back? I have just told you that I knew they kept you alive and although you were my wife, I chose to not take you from them. What in hell did you come here for?" he spat his words out in her face and she recoiled from him. His eyes were angry and serious and this made her try to pull away to get to the door.

For a few moments both stood there staring again into each others eyes and Charlotte was certain she could see the anger in his melt away like ice would on a June day. With that, her own anger subdued and she relaxed her arm, which he kept hold of. She took this opportunity to take her fill of how he looked and what the years had done to change his visage.

When she was sixteen, she had first come face to face with him properly, no make up or mask to try and make himself look deformed so that people would be afraid of him.

The only part of his face that was unusual that could perhaps be considered an abnormality and perhaps encourage others to be afraid of him were his great eyes. They were strange but stunning and she recalled how much she loved them now, having not looked into them for so long. They were had huge iris' that filled all of the eye and left no whites. Not only this, but they were also a brilliant green-gold. She had tried to work out as a young woman whether they were just a bright brown or a light green, but no, they were like that of a lions. He had great huge and beautiful eyes that were unlike that of any human being alive – she was certain and there she was, being stared at by them for the first time in twenty-three years. He still managed to take her breath away and quell her spirits and she stood calmly close to him; she felt his hand relax its grip on her arm.

"I am sorry Erik, I really am" she said "I had thought you were dead and it hurts that you tell me that you knew I was alive and you just tossed me to the lions, because that is what you did. I was your wife and I was so young, you betrayed me in the worst possible sense and from what I can see from in there and from the stories I've heard, you have betrayed me in a carnal sense also." Her voice held and she tugged away her arm from his hand.

"I had come here, not for myself, but for" she hesitated, should she tell him he had a son? Her dejected soul told her no, that her idea of what Erik was, was but a fantasy she had nursed since her youth and nothing more.

"No, it was for me" she managed, looking away from him in case he could detect the lie.

"Thank you for satisfying my curiosity" her voice began to break again and her chin trembled with welling up grief.

"I should go now. I was wrong to seek you out. I'm sorry" she said as the tears again were free "Good bye. God bless you." With this she turned, her eyes still staring at the ground.

Then the most curious thing.

She walked into a wall of darkness.

Suddenly everything around her was black and she could not see anything, not even her own hand before her face. She was still standing, she was sure of it, but she was unable to move at all. Her body refused to move, but there were no obvious restraints and she felt nothing accost her body.

Then darkness descended over her mind as she lost consciousness in an instant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The angel of mercy had gone by the time Alex came round again, finding himself in a different room than that of the Garçonnière where he usually slept. This made him feel confused at first, as he looked about the room. It was brightened by a window that was being covered by a curtain that was too short and let in daylight that seeped out, pouring over the sill and provided a little illumination.

The room was empty of company and its meagre furniture was quite simple but well worn. He sat up with ease, although he had a headache, which he put down to not having eaten or drank properly since he was taken ill. How long ago was that? What day was he on now? Then the angel's face appeared in his mind. Who was she? Had he been delirious during his fever? Had he simply imagined the entire episode? No woman that beautiful could have been earthly, he was sure and this made him feel unnerved slightly that he could have had a ghostly encounter whilst he was in the grip of a dangerous fever.

More human pursuits took over his mind as his body issued his now conscious brain with a whole list of problems that desperately needed its urgent and full attention as query was not a priority. He rose to his feet, much quicker than he had wanted and paid the price by falling back onto the bed. His strength had clearly left him, but he managed to stumble to his feet and after he had found a chamber pot, his body then demanded a damage report in the shape of a mirror.

He found an old, but clear mirror sitting on the table near the door and having walked with light-headed caution to the curtains and removed the material from obstructing the window; he faced it and then held the mirror before his him.

It was not as bad as he had thought. His cheeks were sallow and dark rings had appeared under his eyes, but he did not seem to be that ravaged by the wasting of the fever. His face needed a shave and he needed to bathe, but otherwise he was not more than a couple of weeks away from full health he was sure.

As he stood, the door opened and he turned to face it to see who entered. There stood the short stout figure of Hortense, the house keeper. She had small circular spectacles perched on the end of her nose and her red-grey hair was neatly placed off her face. On seeing him stood, with a mirror in his hand and in his night-shirt, she nodded at him and smiled.

"You are up" she said, moving over to him and reaching up with her portly hand to his face and pulling it down so that she could look into his eyes, now that they were no longer obstructed with lids.

"Yes" he said and then coughed as his throat felt so dry.

"Oh excuse me, Madame" he said, putting down the mirror and raising a hand to cover his mouth.

"We had you moved to the attics of the main house. The servant's quarters for men and women have moved here. A lot of the staff are away sick and some" she looked momentarily grave "have passed away".

Alex looked shocked and his mouth fell open as if to accentuate this feeling.

"Mon deiu" he mouthed.

"I know, I know. That is why the master instructed that the staff who were recovering or not sick, who could not be removed to their homes should be brought here. As you have a home oversees and this house is your home, we are here. The only family left here is the eldest child, Elise. The master and mistress were ordered to leave her here after she became sick after helping to tend to some of the staff. Such a heart that girl, but she paid the price" Hortense shook her head slowly and then pointed to the bed from which Alex had just rose from.

"You are still weak, but the sickness has left you" her hand remained pointed at the bed and Alex resigned to the fact that he must take to it once more.

"Why did the family leave Elise?" he asked, pulling the sheets over his legs.

"So that they did not become infected, or the other children. Elise is but 16 and the others are therefore only children. The family physician has tended to her and she is now recovering nicely. I sit with her everyday and try and amuse her, but I fail I think" she said as she tucked the sheets about him and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

"When will the rest of the family return to the house?" he asked.

"Not for at least a month I should think, the doctor insisted upon it. Leighton went with them to Marseilles were they will remain until the doctor tells them it is safe to return. Now Alex, you should rest". She smiled at him, which in his short sphere of knowledge of this lady, was quite strange. In fact, so had the fact that she had spoken to him, not only at length, but also in very good English.

"Hortense?" he asked as she removed her hand from his forehead.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Why are you speaking to me in English? I always had the impression you preferred to speak in French." Her expression clouded momentarily, and then brightened.

"You must thank _ma jeune dame_ for that. She insisted that I see to you and that I address you in English." She noticed Alex's confused expression.

"Oh, I don't think you know Elise, do you? She stayed and tended to you throughout the worst of your sickness. She made her father get the family physician to look at you, as opposed to the - err, the _apothicaire_ that is usually sent for when the staff are sick."

She was on her feet now, her arms folded and she was looking down kindly at the young man.

"When you are more stable on your feet, you should visit Elise and provide some company for her" she turned now to leave "I must go now. Oh yes, before I do, I shall give you this" and with that, she left the room for a moment and then re-entered carrying a medium sized package that was trussed up in brown paper and string.

"This arrived for you when you were ill. It is from England. Whatever it is, it is quite heavy, but perhaps the contents shall cheer you, now I really must go." She placed the package on the side of his bed and then left the room, saying that she would organise some food and fresh water to be brought up to him.

Alex thanked her for all her help as she left him with the package.

He looked down at the writing on the address; it was in Ellen's hand. He wondered if his mother had contacted her and informed her of where he was and she had sent him something. Either way, it was a pleasant surprise and he was quite excited to see what it contained. He eagerly untied the string and then he pulled away the paper. He was quite puzzled at the contents of the package. It was simply a bundle of books that had been tied up with string.

They all looked quite worn and he decided to pull away the top one, which had a black leather cover and that was battered looking around the edges.

He opened the book and read on the first page "Miss Charlotte Elizabeth Heath – her book". It was in a slightly more childish version of handwriting to his mothers, but it was certainly hers. He flipped through the pages and saw that it was full of writing that seemed to be dated at the beginning and then signed at the end of each. As the pages flashed past, he noticed that it contained sketches in both ink and graphite and he paused at one or two to see if he could discern who they were depicting. One he paused on was labelled 'Mother' and there was a beautifully executed drawing of a lady, who was sat at a small table, writing, it would appear.

He put this book down and proceeded to pick up the following one. This one was in red leather and just as dogged as the previous book. He opened the front cover and just as before, there was a name, this time, it said "Mrs Charlotte Elizabeth Durose – journal". He proceeded to the first yellowing page of writing and found it was dated later than the last page of the first book, this would indicate that the books had been sent in chronological order. He then picked up the first and held it up to examine it further, when a white envelope fell out from between some of the pages.

The writing on the envelope, this time, was in his mother's usual hand, and it was simply addressed to 'Alexander E. Durrows'. He slid his index finger along the inside of the flap and opened it to reveal a letter. He opened it, quite eager to hear from his mother, whom he had not had word from since their parting more than a month ago.

"My Dear Alex, I have at this point in time, just left you at the gates of the de Chagny's and the stage has brought me to a small village not far off to let some of the passengers alight and to commit more to it's onward journey, so I have taken this opportunity to execute a plan I have long since formulated; to send to you my diaries. This I will be doing with the help of Ellen, as I entrusted them to her before we had to leave Coalcote. I have written to her, enclosing this letter and some money to pay for the postage and asked her to send onto you these books for you to view.

The reason I have done this is because I want you to be able to understand what has happened over the years and for you to view the world from my perspective. I wish to give you some greater understanding of the entire situation we find ourselves in and why I had to leave you.

At this moment in time, I miss you terribly and it broke my heart to have to leave you in the company of strangers, yet, I believe that after you have read the enclosed, you will understand why.

Please know that you are the best son a mother could wish for and watching you grow and flourish has been the most worthwhile factor of my life. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and I am grateful for that.

I love you, please take care of yourself and I am certain we shall meet soon. Yours, M."

Alex stared at the letter a moment, just looking at it and not rereading it. His mother's tone sounded quite distant, as though they may never really meet again like she had intimated. He put the letter to one side and opened the first book again at the first page and read.

"I have never been on a boat before, not like this at least! The sea is calm and it is sunny, which makes the crossing more tolerable for all, especially Mama, who was very out of sorts with the thought of being jostled about on the sea, but I love it!" this entry was dated twenty-four years ago. It was on the day his mother had crossed the English Channel from Dover in Kent when she had just turned sixteen; she was on her way to stay with her older step brother James and his wife in Paris, for a few months. She had spoken to him about it over the years when he had asked her what it was like to be out at sea on a ship and he had tried to imagine the sound of the water and the bobbing and weaving of the boat.

He read on, seeing how the journey was exciting for his very young mother and nauseating for his grandmother and step grandfather, both of whom he had never known. Her over use of exclamation marks and short, choppy sentences made him smile at the irony – she was now a teacher and so was he. If a student had presented themselves with such behaviour in writing as she had done, then they both would have been mortified and would have tried to correct it.

He pursued the narrative; nothing of significance occurred, except her comical behaviour which she had recorded in the journal. She had written about falling over, tripping up, blushing at boys and laughing so hard she lost her breath and made her sides ache. He laughed out loud at this version of his mother he had never known; she was outgoing, headstrong and lively – boarding on the eccentric. She was the first on her feet to dance and the first to speak in awkward silences. He learned of her love for dancing and singing and how she had secretly wished to be on the stage, but "it is not acceptable for young ladies like me. Me! A lady!" she had written of the opposition to her dream. This was like a completely different person, but it was still his mother nonetheless and it cheered him to read about her early life, before she had met his father and her life changed forever.

He read until his eyes became too heavy to read anymore and he fell asleep with the book still open, but face down on his chest. He slept for several hours, only judging this by the fact that it was as black as pitch outside. He rubbed his eyes and sat up which is when he noticed food and water had been placed on the tiny bedside table next to his narrow bed. He reached out and took the plate from it and although he did not feel hungry, he ate until he could not eat any further. He normally had an immense appetite, but this sickness he had been struck down with had shrunk his stomach and it felt strange to eat again. He put the plate down again and swallowed as much water as he could and then he rose to find a lamp or a candle. He had decided to read more of his mother's life, which he had just dreamt about. He had dreamt that he was in the parlour of the house where her step brother lived; helping her wind up wool whilst she chattered constantly about a new song she had learnt to sing.

When he opened the book once more, having retrieved a lamp that gave a brilliant glow, he noticed that the entry in the diary he was reading before he fell asleep was one were she was describing a new song she had learnt and that she had spoken about it with her step brothers wife, Amelia, whilst she helped her wind up some wool that had come loose from it's ball. He read on eagerly, his mother was an interesting heroine to peruse.

"July 22nd. Amelia is sitting on the couch taking tea and I am by the window writing in here. Oh what a bore today is! I had hoped that when I came to Paris, I would have such a time of it, but it would appear that I am to be house bound with her. She has some kind of malaise of the mind, melancholy I think James said. She just sits there, staring at the embroidery in her hands and does nothing with it. I keep asking James if I could take her for a walk in a park or to a shop – the diversion would surely make her feel much brighter, but no. I have to stay here and keep her company and what company I am! I am not to talk, or fidget or play the piano forte in the other room. I have to simply be a statue and wait to be of some use. This is just awful. I must rebel or else I shall be losing my mind also! I have a terrific urge to see a performance at the Palais Garnier. It has not been open fully for that long and I so want to visit it! I want to see the inside and wear a great gown like all the ladies! James has promised me that he will take us both there one day, but only when Amelia is well again – which I think is going to never happen!

I have learnt that song by heart now and have even tried to translate it into French. It does not sound right though, but tush, it will if I sing it! Oh I must go, Amelia has unfrozen and wishes me to take some tea with her, like I even want to! She is such a bore! CEH."

Amelia had never been spoken of to Alex by his mother, although he simply knew she was married to James.

"July 23rd. Such a miracle! I am so excited I can hardly breathe let alone write! Oh my god! I cannot believe it! James told Amelia and me that we were to go to the Opera on Saturday next! We had a box, whatever that will be, that he and some of this gentleman friends and their wives shall be in! I cannot remember the name of the performance we are to see, but that I am to be dressed most fine. James says that there are wealthy young men that attend the Opera and that I may perhaps meet someone suitable by which he means for me to be married. He gave Amelia and I an allowance to either renew or to buy a gown for the occasion. I have no clothes for such an event so I am to go to the city with one of the servants (the little one who can't speak a word of English) and have a gown fitted! Oh I am so excited! Just think what this could mean. I shall retire now, for it is late and I wish to be up tomorrow early so that I might be ahead of any crowds in the city! Oh what pleasure I shall have! CEH." The next entry was one that had been read over and over again, as the edges of the pages had been more worn than the rest.

"The day after the Opera" it began, instead of a date "I don't know how to begin, or where. I think I should go from the beginning of the night. I had, like I told you in the last entry, to buy a new gown for the evening. It was a lovely one as well in silk lavender. I adored it, but Amelia made a face when she saw me in it. That is strange coming from her, who dressed in an old gown, which would have made her look very old if it was not for the jewels she was draped in. I hade been made up by Amelle (that is the little servant who went with me to get the dress, that's her name apparently) and got into the carriage with James and Amelia. James kept telling me how lovely I looked and how all the young men would certainly take a fancy to me. These compliments made Amelia grimace and look out of the window, never once dropping a word from her lips! We arrived and, let me assure you, the Opera House was as magnificent as I had always imagined it to be! It was utterly splendid beyond words; the walls had such paintings and such architecture! Neo-baroque James said, I think, but I was not really listening. We made it to out seats, which had a wonderful view of the stage. There we were joined by the ladies and gentlemen of James' acquaintance, but they were of little interest to me. I could not wait for the performance to start!

After the first song or so had elapsed and then commenced some dancing on the stage between some of the cast, I looked up, I cannot say what made me, but I just looked to the ceiling where hung the magnificent chandelier. Just beyond it, was a man. He sat on some perch, very high up and very narrow, leaning on one of the railings. He was watching the performance, but at this point, had stopped and had started to stare back at me. I could not really tell if it was me he was looking at, as he was so far away, but his head stayed in my direction instead of the stage. I rose to my feet; I was so interested in this person! I had forgotten myself. James asked me what the matter was and I told him that I wished to be excused for a few moments and nodded. I looked over to the point in the ceiling where this person was and he was also on his feet. I felt so excited! I left the box and do you know, I could not think of where to look. I walked about the corridor behind the boxes, fanning myself, ushers asking me if I was well or needed anything. I just said that I simply wished to stretch my legs, which seemed to satisfy them. I asked one of them, how the great ceiling was maintained, he said that there was a narrow walkway along the rim of it and that sufficed for people to see if there was anything that needed doing up there. I asked how one would get up there to do that and I was told there were access points around the building, the nearest being a door that said Private on it at the end of the corridor on which I was. I thanked him, he just thought he was being helpful to a curious lady, I resolved to go in through that door! It was thankfully unlocked and beyond it were some narrow stairs, which I walked up. I passed through each door I came across, thankfully all vacant! I came upon a dead end in one and that is where I saw this man! The very one I had looked at perched up high in the auditoriums darkness. He had a mask on, so I thought he was a stage hand, trying to frighten away some nosy audience member. Then I heard this voice in my ear, it just told me to go. I turned to see if there was anyone there, but there was not a soul in sight! Really, I did not know what to make of it. I was not afraid, so I walked up this man, I must say he stood so still I thought he was made of wood!"

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted Alex's reading, it was Hortense. She took his plate and refilled his glass and then left him, urging him to go to sleep. He nodded to her and insisted that he would, but he wanted to finish this last entry, the entry where his mother had first ever met his father.

"I walked right up to his covered face and asked him who he was and if he was that man I had seen all the way up there on the ceiling. He did not answer, but I carried on my questioning. Then he grabbed my throat! Like lightening he was! It was awful at first, because that has never happened to me before! I tried to pull his hand away, but he was so strong! Then he said to me in English 'go away and leave me alone'. He then let me go. I wasn't going to stand for that! How rude. I must have stood there a moment in shock but I was soon with my wits once more and I grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. I said 'Oy! What did you do that for? There was no need for that! And what's with all this mask nonsense anyway?' The queerest thing was, he just stood there. I think he was shocked that I had reproached him! He then said to me 'I do not owe answers to petulant children, no run along. This area is private' then he turned to leave again. Well, I was having none of that!"

Alex laughed loudly at this, which made him feel as though he was going to be sick. His diaphragm cramped with the effort which left him completely breathless. He sat breathless for a moment and then continued.

"I marched myself straight over to him and grabbed him once more. I said 'If I was a child, I would certainly not be at an Opera, nor would I be brave enough to clamber up here, nor would I be able to fit into this dress because I wouldn't have these!' I then pointed emphatically at my breasts, and you know what? He stood there and actually stared at them for a moment! What a strange man! Well I was not very lady like doing what I did, but I was so annoyed at the time, it seemed like a good idea. Then he says 'My apologies, you are clearly a grown woman with the mind of a child and therefore are most unfortunate to have such a mental disorder'. Now in retrospect, I can see he was trying to get a rise out of me, but I then saw red and swiped that silly mask off his face. He stood there, aghast at what I'd done. I stood there aghast because he was so… well, handsome. I was expecting something horrific under there, but no, he was stunning. He has these weird eyes though. They are like a cat. This Greenie-Goldie colour that covers all of this eyes so you can't see any whites. I thought that was a bit strange, but other than that he was very nice indeed! Then he comes over all queer says something like 'you should never have done that you stupid little girl' and goes to grab my throat again but I move out of the way and grab his. My hands are tiny, so I use both and they are gloved too in white satin so the whole scene looks ridiculous. He was panting away and it even looked like he was snarling a bit like a dog. Then, for no apparent reason, I started laughing at him. I couldn't help myself, I was in pleats. I let go of him and tried to apologise, but I couldn't get a word out! How funny was that? He stands up anyway and glowers at me demanding to know what was so funny. I calmed myself down a bit and told him why: that entire scene. He smirked a bit, which for this man I presume is his version hysterical laughter. I asked him who he was and what he had been doing up there and he just stared at me as if I was mad. In the end I told him I needed to go back and join my party, but that I would see him again as he clearly worked at the opera and down the stairs I went and back to the box. What fun! I will see him again, I mean, I really hope so, he was lovely… CEH"

"Well aren't you the sly one" Alex muttered to himself at his mother's teenaged self. He had laughed and shook his head in dismay at his mother's first meeting. She had never spoken to him about it and he wondered why because it was such a comical event. There was nothing unnerving or unhappy about it at all.

He placed the letter from his mother between the pages of the book in order to keep his place and placed it and all the other books on the floor besides his bed. He had every intention to read on and finish them all. It would keep his mind active, which he so desperately required and also because he had really begun to like this version of his mother and wished he had known her as this saucy and funny young woman who was adventurous and unafraid. With this thought came another, which made itself known by leaving a cold slivery wake from his stomach as it crawled up his spine. What had made her change? This was definitely not the same person. His Mam had occasions when she was fun and energetic, but nothing like she was, which was reserved and unless she was with people which meant she would have to disguise it, she was withdrawn and depressed constantly. Who had done this to her?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

So tired. So tired that my eyes are too heavy to heave open, but I must find a way to do it and… there. Open. Ceiling. No, not ceiling, it can't be because it's some kind of material.

What's that? I just moved my left leg outwards and there is something stopping it, it's warm and heavy, like a person sat on the edge of the bed.

"Who is there?" I ask, but my voice is wheezy.

"You're awake" says a male voice. It's Erik.

My heart has just thumped harder and it has made my hands go suddenly cold and tingly. Did last night happen at all? Did I really see him? Where am I? I'm not at the Dumoulins. I'm not at home in Coalcote or any other place I have ever known. I have to sit up, if I can, I need to see the room about me and see if it is really him.

There. I'm up and I've kept my eyes closed because I want to revel in the surprise I will feel when I open them and see him before them. I do. I open my eyes and there he is sat there, worry is that? In his eyes? Is he concerned for me? Last night, what he said before everything became black. He is right in what he said and I was right in my course of action. I want to smile because I can see him, but I've had to bite my lip. Has he moved on though? Is there any chance we can salvage our marriage? I meant something to him once, didn't I? Maybe I didn't, maybe I was the delirious teen.

He hasn't said anything to me yet, which I will take to mean that he has been thinking inwardly as much I have. I wonder what his thoughts are. Oh how our faces have changed and how different our lives have been. Why could he want to take me back? No. Do I want him back? He committed adultery, or at least tried to with Christine bloody Daae. Hang on. He told me he'd known all along that I was alive, he told me that he knew that! Therefore it was adultery! He knew his wife was still alive and he tried to get off with some skinny little ballet dancer!

My cheeks are getting hot now and he's still just staring at me with those great eyes, I feel so angry, I just want to grab him and yell and yell until my voice goes away. I want to scream at him, I want to let the fullness of my rage fill his head and leave it ringing, I want to –

"Charlotte, your cheeks are flushed, what's wrong? Are you ill again?"

Like he cares.

"I need to go back to where I was staying. I am to return to England now."

What is he shaking his head for?

"I took the liberty of paying up what you owed and having your belongings brought here, I hope this is agreeable with you?"

What!

"Well, it will make it easier then for me to leave then will it not. Now, where are my clothes?"

I have only just noticed but I am in a night dress and I cannot see my clothes anywhere nearby in this room. Who put me in this nightdress? What if he put me in it? I still have my underwear on, but what if he saw my body? I'm older and things are not what they were when he last saw me undressed.

"They are in the closet"

He's pointing to a large mahogany monstrosity. Very ornate and over the top, like the furniture we had in the underground house. Maybe he has not changed that much. Perhaps.

"Well" I begin and I'm throwing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "I can get dressed now then and be on my way. Please have my belongings by the door, if you would, now please leave whilst I get dressed."

He looks, just for a moment, quite surprised by this request. His mouth is open like it wants to say something but can't. I don't think there is much to say between us now. How I am coping at this moment and not hysterical is because I am numb. I think I'm in shock and if so, I want to make the most of it and get as far away from here as I can before the reality of all of this starts to sink in. And it will and I will not be able to cope with the agony of it. I must leave, now.

Before I can get off the bed, the door is opening. In walks a woman I have not seen before. She has brown hair, very tall. Quite pretty. Big nose.

"Darling"

Who is she talking to?

She walks over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. She has nice hands, long fingers, like a musician.

"I have just had her belongings moved up to the house, is there anything you would like?"

She's American.

"No, no. That is quite enough. Thank you"

I am here you know, so stop talking about me as if I'm not. My heart just stopped beating. She leans down and kisses him on the mouth. Oh God.

She's leaving the room.

"Hey, what's going on?" I think I shouted it out much louder than I thought. She pauses by the door and looks at me, but my question was to Erik.

"Ada is my fiancé" he says casually.

What?

She looks at him with sympathy, as though there is something wrong with my mind and she feels sympathy for the carer and not the patient. I see red.

"Hey! Don't you go looking at him as though I'm missing screws, love, I'm his wife! That means you are null and void now run along deary, that's a good girl". I cannot say I have ever spoken like that to anyone in my entire life. What has possessed me? I never defend myself – ever, I always run away, why do I even care now? What is wrong with me?

She looks shocked, but leaves the room as directed. I'm seething. The air is being breathed in through my teeth and it's making this harsh rasping noise, but I don't care. Something bemused and almost impressed flickers across his features. He's standing up and folding his arms. Here we go.

"Do you know that by law, if someone goes missing for more than eight years they can be considered dead and any marriage is dissolved?"

I want to laugh, but I'm too angry.

"That's English law, darling" the last part of that sentence was decorated exquisitely with sarcasm.

"We were not married in England though, were we, or had that insignificant little event left your memory, what with chasing after chorus girls and American women". I'd slap his face if he was closer to me.

All those years I had wasted on him! All those years, I mourned him, prayed for him, dressed in black, refused to let myself love anyone else. All my life! He's had my entire life! He took it all and thought nothing of it. I have loved him every single moment of every day! Cried for him. God, the tears. The emptiness. I was a fool! A pitiful little creature, too wretched for him to even care enough about to even take care of. He never loved me! How could he have ever loved me? How could he!

The tears. I can't stop them now. I have to let them out, let him see them, let him have a taste of the years of agony and misery he has caused me. Not that he'll care, but let him see.

And I do.

I'm on my feet and sobbing in front of him. He doesn't move, but I cannot really tell, because my eyes are closed and all I can hear are my own moans and gasps. I remember he could move without you ever noticing. It was nothing, I was nothing to him. Oh god. It hurts. It hurts. Oh god.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Five solitary days flagged by for Charlotte in her small white room in this strange new house in Switzerland. The only person she saw was the girl who had met her at the door the night she arrived, as she brought her provisions.

Charlotte had asked for this confinement. She wanted to be left alone and had asked Erik to allow her to be so the morning after she came to the house. She had stood in front of him, almost like a whining child and wept openly. Although his fiancé had just left the room, he had looked on in almost horror as the pain that had simmered deep within his estranged wife burst forth to the surface and enveloped her whole.

She had noticed the look on his face and even witnessed his arms rise as though he wanted to rush over and hold her, but he hesitated and they fell to his side. That only added to her anguish and she had pleaded with him to leave her alone until she was ready to leave. She had intended to leave that night, just bundle her belongings together and leave, but her strength escaped her and she took to the bed, unable to care about what happened to her because the pain in her heart had struck numb the left side of her body and it was relentless.

She rose on this day, for no particular reason. She wanted to look out of the window. Somehow in her pain she had found some relief in the thought that her son was well – she prayed to God – and happy. She knew he would do well now. She also knew how to secure his safety for ever and the reason was so sublime to her that hot tears of pain and joy rolled down her cheeks.

She made it to the window and looked out over the embracing woodland that grew a few meter's away from the building. There were evergreens mixed about the forest perimeter and between their sleek trunks was endless darkness. Charlotte smiled at it.

Her plan had formed in her mind not long after she had almost hysterically asked Erik to leave her and let her stay until she felt well enough to go. He had kept away from her and so had everyone else, apart from the girl who tentatively placed trays and bowls of clean water in her room and then quickly left, without making eye contact.

Her desolation was compounded by the fact that her husband was now engaged to another woman. The thought of it again made her take her eyes away from the window and look at the wall next to her and shake her head sadly. She had no idea what French law stated about missing people, whether the marriage was dissolved as he had been presumed dead and they had been separated for that long. In English law she knew it was eight years. If they were still married, he would have to divorce her and divorce was not an easy option.

He wanted to marry this American woman. Why should she stop him? Her plan worked for all involved; especially herself.

She took in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, hoping it would stop her from crying again. She raised her hand to her face to wipe away the remainder of her tears. She was going to be happy and at peace so soon, and all the hurt, the misery and the pain would just disappear – she would simply suffer no longer and it pleased her to think that.

Now she had to make preparations. Not for the execution of her plan, but for the arrangements that must be made after her plan of leaving Erik had come to fruition; she had some important tasks to carry out.

Firstly, she dressed, pulling on a light grey dress she had only worn once and had brought it with her in case she did meet Erik and she could stop wearing black all the time. She had met Erik now, so why should she change what she had resolved to do? She splashed water on her face in a bid to reduce the redness of her eyes and then tidied her hair into a sober bun, snatched off her neck.

She crept out of the room, feeling strange because she was dressed in a colour that she was not used to wearing and also that she was in a house that she had no knowledge of. The hall immediately outside her bedroom was panelled but painted white, like the curved ceiling. The floor was a dark brown wood and she walked out onto it carefully. She closed the door behind her quietly and then walked along the corridor until she came to some steps that wound their way down the white washed walls. She descended them, coming to a blue-grey door with a dull silver handle and passed through it. She came to another landing with a red carpeted floor and then walked along it until she found a stair way that was much larger than the last and had large ornate spindles and rails. She descended this and found herself in the entrance hall from the night she arrived. Music floated on the air like the smell of freshly baked bread and she followed it for it meant people were nearby.

She came to the same door that had lead into the fabulous hall where she had seen Erik for the first time after all those years. She bit her lip as the misery threatened to drown her once again. She had to speak to him and let him know part of her intentions. He could not have the whole truth because it might inconvenience him and she did not wish that, not even after all the heartache he had caused her.

She opened the door a crack and peered inside. Gone was the fabulous setting of the ball and it was replaced by women sitting about in semi-circles on rather dull brown chairs with straight backs. All where dressed as soberly as Charlotte and all where listening attentively to a woman on her feet, in each cluster, as though they were being taught in groups.

She stepped through the door way and stood for a moment, feeling a little embarrassed and uneasy, trying to pick out a face she knew. Then she spied Ada, stood at the far corner of the room with six women sitting in front of her whilst she spoke. She was holding a book open and had it facing the women, as if to demonstrate what she was talking about.

Charlotte looked on at Ada, just observing her for a few moments. She was pretty, possibly in her mid to late thirties. It did not matter now. Nothing mattered now. She was nearly free. She looked about to see if anyone noticed her and they had not, so she traversed the room, between the groups and stood facing Ada's side. The women in the group stopped listening to Ada and turned to look at the newcomer. All looked at her with wide eyed expressions of concern, as though they had been warned that Charlotte was a mad woman who could take a knife to them at any moment.

Ada followed her pupils' gaze to the waiting woman stood beside her and tried to smile and failed, settling with something between a grimace and a pout.

"Ur, yes? Can I help you?" she began, closing the book that she had been holding up.

"I want to speak to my husband please. Where is he?" Charlotte replied, with indignance that she did not know she had in her. Although she had resigned to the fact that this woman was going to take her husband away from her, she had no reason to allow her to think that she was happy about it.

"Urm. Well, let's see" she said, looking quickly at the women who had whispered something between themselves and now waited to see what would happen next.

"I know he was out early today, but he should be back by now. Why don't you try his office? It's through that door and then take a right." She raised her right index finger and gestured to the door that Erik had asked her to go into on the night she came.

"Thank you Agnes" Charlotte replied, purposefully saying her name incorrectly.

"It's Ada"

"What ever"

With that, Charlotte walked away, keeping her eyes dead ahead of her but allowing her peripheral vision to notice the curious faces that watched her cross the room and disappear through the arched door in the wall.

She followed the directions Ada had given her, but in almost darkness. The corridor was dimly lit with lamps that nestled in crevices in the walls and even they burnt with a dim light. There were no windows to this corridor and it felt cold and eerie. She felt as though she was going underground, although there were no steps and no decline to the floor. He had always preferred darkness. So had she.

She came to what appeared to be a back door, for the lacquer on it glistened in the half-light. She rapped on it twice and felt sick suddenly and faint. She was going to have to face him again, but it was going to genuinely be for the last time. Still, she tried to take deep breaths to stop her heart pumping too much blood to her face and making it burn once more.

The door swung inwardly quickly and Erik stood in front of her. He was wearing a white shirt with what appeared to be a brown and possibly grey waist coat, with black pants and shoes, but no jacket or neck tie. His long black hair hung freely either side of his forehead and made him look young like he did when they first met.

"Right" he said slowly at his wife who stood still and breathing hard in front of him.

She did not think. She simply marched past him into the room, making a mental note not to touch him on her way past and moved her arms up as she passed him to make sure no part of her came into contact with him, as though he disgusted her.

He closed the door behind her.

"Well" he began "you are looking well. I take it you will be leaving soon?" he finished as he turned from the door to face her. He was half surprised to see she was sat on a chair in front of his desk.

He assumed his seat in front of her.

"Yes. I'm leaving tomorrow morning, if that is agreeable. I need to write to my s-" she paused, looking away momentarily then resumed "some friends. I need to write to them and let them know I am leaving Switzerland. So if you would be so kind, I would like a pen, some paper and some envelopes" Erik sat staring at her as she spoke. Something in his eyes confused Charlotte as she spoke, but she squirreled it away for examination later. She had a great deal to reflect upon before tonight.

"Certainly. I shall have what you requested brought to your room immediately then. Anything else?" he asked, not letting his voice reflect what was being said to her by his eyes.

"Divorce" she began and this made him straighten in his chair as though he was shocked that she had said it. "Obviously you want one, so I can look into granting you it. As you know, they are very difficult to come by, especially for women, so I will let you divorce me on any grounds you feel fit. You will not be extradited to France; I do not believe and are therefore safe to conduct legal matters. I will leave you my address. Send the papers there. You will not get a fight from me."

His expression clouded over for a moment and the sides of his mouth pointed down as though he was momentarily troubled by what she said. Charlotte took it to mean that he might be discovered by the authorities that wanted him for the murders of two people at the opera house during the Christine Daae days.

She rose to her feet.

"I shouldn't worry if I were you. You will soon be rid of me and be with your precious Ada, happily ever after and I can finally get on with what life I have left to live." She turned away towards the door, her chin trembling with the piteous pain welling up in her that she would disperse that night.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Charlotte" he offered as she walked back towards the door.

She could not speak, so simply shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author:**

If you've read up to here then you are star! Thank you for giving this story a go. I decided to write it, my first stab at prose, as an experiment. I've always wanted to write a novel, but I've never attempted it. When I needed a subject to just practice on, I decided to write up this story as I've always wanted to, but never felt the urge as poetry is my forte. I f you are enjoying this novel, then please let me know and I will continue writing it until it's conclusion and write the other two I've planned about it afterwards. I'm going off popularity though, no use flogging a dead horse and that!

**Chapter Ten**

"Nerves" Alex said to himself out loud when he looked in the mirror and combed his hair for the third and final time. He placed the mirror and comb down on the window sill of his small attic room and took in a slow deep breath in an effort to calm himself down.

He brushed his brown jacket down with his palms in an effort to smooth it and then he bent down to inspect his shoes. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he opened the door and traversed the landing and descended to the ground floor of the house.

He stood before a very fancy doorway, containing two high doors with intricate gold leaf swirls and lines on top of duck egg coloured panels. He knocked on the right hand door and waited. He was almost faint with nerves at this point, but he clenched his fists and tightened his lips in order to look calm, but he knew he would fail to pass himself off as so as he was sure he was becoming pale.

It had been not much more than a week and a half since he had began to recover and he was starting to eat much better and hence had more energy. He had began to do odd jobs in the eaves of the upper attic, but could only work for about half an hour before he felt completely drained again and needed to rest, but he felt he had to be useful. To him, there was nothing worse than sitting idle, especially as he had to work for his keep.

Hortense was extremely impressed with her young English worker. Whilst the other men recovering barely left their beds, this young man, who in fairness had been more taken by the sickness than they, had still worked hard. He insisted on making himself useful, even if only a little, so Hortense found him small tasks to perform for her. She was extremely grateful for the help about the practically deserted house and Alex was an apt worker. One day the previous week, he had stopped to eat lunch with Hortense in the upper attic when she suggested that, because his strength was recovering, he may make himself useful now by keeping company with the young mistress, Elise.

Alex had almost dropped his spoon full of thick vegetable soup when he heard this and blundered in his acceptance of the notion by stammering to the affirmative. Hortense smiled at this young mans embarrassment, especially as he had confided in her that he had thought he was dead as he lay sick and that Elise was genuinely an Angel sent by god to tend to him, or take him from this world.

Now he was stood before the parlour door, awaiting admittance and trying desperately to remain calm. He heard soft foot steps cross the room and take the handle. He heard the catch in the lock slide to one side and saw the door open to reveal Hortense, stood there in the gap and smiling at him. He returned the smile and nodded at her as she stood aside and allowed him to enter.

He looked about the room until he saw her.

His mouth fell open slightly and his eyes became huge, though only for a moment. Hortense bustled past him and, with a beckoning hand, bid him follow her to where the young lady stood.

For some reason, he felt calm now that he was in her presence, again as though he was in the presence of something supernatural. He followed Hortense until he was in front of Elise and whilst Hortense uttered an introduction, his brain worked quickly to take in everything about the girl before him.

She was utterly and completely beautiful. She had bright blonde hair that fell in soft curls over her shoulders and back, accentuating her porcelain skin and slender neck. She was also tall, but not as tall as to make her unusual. Her small mouth was heart shaped and her lips were full and a dark pink. Her nose was small and button like, leading up towards her eyes.

Alex stared at her eyes, they were unbelievable. The same eyes he had seen smile at him in his delirium were the same eyes that stared at him now. They were depthlessly blue and in the light of day they were more brilliant. The long eye lashes surrounding them were like a fence that kept whoever fell into those azure pools secured and unable to escape.

Hortense touched Alex's arm, which forced him out of his trance. He had not even heard a word that had been said and felt immediately embarrassed. The girl before him smiled, holding out her slender hand for him to take as a greeting.

"Are you quite well?" asked Hortense.

"Oh – yes, yes. Sorry. Yes" he stammered, taking Elise's hand, knowing that every nerve in his body was eager to discover what it would be like to touch her.

"Oh it is so wonderful to see you well" Elise enthused "please sit down by the fire so we may talk, my society has been very limited since the house emptied and it has been down to Hortense to keep me company". She gestured to two high back arm chairs that had been deliberately brought towards the hearth, where a fire had been lit and offered satisfactory warmth for the two of them.

Alex smiled an agreement to her plan and letting go of her hand, took to one of the seats. As he looked at his seat, a great blanket had been left draped over it. Hortense then told him to wrap up in it and put his feet on the foot stool, for she wanted them both well, therefore they were to wrap up, even in front of the fire.

Elise swathed herself in her blanket and he in his and they sat there in pure bliss watching the fire for a few moments without a word. Hortense went to arrange some refreshments for the pair, to be placed on the small round table that was between their chairs.

When Hortense returned, she took up a post in a corner of the room, draping a thick dark blue woollen blanket over her legs and began to knit. She was happy in her station as chaperone to the young lady and was also pleased that Elise had another person whom she could converse with.

Alex looked at Elise whose eyes were half closed as she stared at the orange blaze before her. They had not spoken since they sat and the strange notion was, Alex did not feel uncomfortable with it. He decided to break it though, even if out of politeness, for he was her guest.

"So Elise" he began "how are you feeling? I understand that you are recovering from this wretched sickness that has blighted us all."

"Oh yes" she began, her French accent sounding quaint to Alex's ears as her tongue curled around every syllable.

"I was quite ill, but I am now much better. It was a horrible illness. I cannot believe it had struck us so hard. Apparently this whole area for many miles has been caught with it. When some of the staff died, at home, not here, then we thought we were all done for. The doctor instructed that we all left, my family and I, but when I became ill, the doctor told them to leave me here in his care. They tried to convince him to have me sent away somewhere else, but I was too sick to travel. Anyway, they should return in a few more weeks." She was sat up now and leaned towards him.

"Hortense apprised me of your dreadful situation. I am so sorry for you to be without your family. I know how that feels" Alex's eyes betrayed his sadness, even though he smiled warmly at his companion.

"Oh do not feel pity for me. I am almost well again and besides, my family are still in the same country. You are away from yours. It must be awful for you." She looked quickly at Hortense who was engrossed in her knitting and thoughts and then placed her hand over his.

He looked down at her elegant fingers that were resting on his hand and then he looked up into her eyes. His lips parted slightly and his stare was intense, Elise mirrored him exactly. They sat entranced by each other for a moment until they heard Hortense sneeze. This snapped them out of it, making Elise sit back and after taking a cup of tea from the little table, sitting far back in her chair.

"Tell me about your family, in England" Elise said, taking a sip.

"Very well" he began.

He cleared his throat for he knew that his life would be strange listening for this young woman's ears.

"I need to explain a bit about my life really, before you can comprehend my family" he said.

"That's fine, please tell me everything" she replied, smiling warmly.

"Well, I was born in the north west of England in the Lancashire town of Coalcote. My mother was a young widow named Charlotte Durrows, who had only just settled in Coalcote herself. I lived with my mother and the Boon family with whom we lodged at first when I was born. When I was still a baby, my mother began to work as a school teacher at the nearby primary school, which was only a few streets away from the house. It was during this period that my mother and I moved a few doors down the street to lodge with Peggy Topping, an old lady who lived on her own, but looked after children for the other families in the street. I was left in the care of Peggy when my mother was teaching, until I was old enough to go to that school myself. All the family I have ever known have been Mrs Topping and the Boon family. I was brought up near a coal pit called Woodly Pit and almost everyone I knew was involved in it. Before my mother became a teacher, she worked as a pit brow lass. That means that she worked at the top of the pit with the other women to sort through the coal and that. When people discovered how highly educated she was, she was given the teaching post as the school was in desperate need of teachers.

Ellen Boon, whom met my mother in France, has been my adopted Aunt and my mothers greatest friend. Her father John, is also my adopted grandfather, he also met my mother at the same time as Ellen. They are wonderful people and I miss them a great deal." Alex smiled wanly and looked away from Elise as if remembering those who were absent.

"Do you have any blood relatives?" asked Elise, who was leaning forward and resting her chin on her palm.

"No. Well, yes actually I do, but it is very complicated." He stated.

"Good. I like complicated and I would love it if you could tell me everything" she said. She knew she was being rather too forward and perhaps even rude, but Hortense was hard of hearing and sat away from them. She felt though, oddly enough, that she could be forward with this man. The way he had looked at her sent shivers not only down her spine, but through her very soul. She wanted to drink in as much of him as she could.

"Right" he said as he made himself comfortable in his chair.

"I need to tell you about my mother then. In fact, she had recently asked Ellen to send her diaries to me. They are personal journals that she started writing when she was sixteen, not long before she met my father and then, until this day. I got them last week and I've read almost all of them now. I understand her a lot better because of those books, so I think I can accurately tell you about her and her family." He looked at Elise who was still following him with interest glistening in those beautiful eyes. He tried to concentrate on his story instead of losing himself again in them. He bit his lip and tore his glance away from her in order to continue.

"My grandmother was the youngest daughter of the Earl of Badney, the Queens cousin, who had married a wealthy politician named Jonathon Heath. After his untimely death when my mother was still very young, and the lack of any relatives on my grandfather's side, my grandmother inherited everything. This meant that my mother had a very decadent childhood, with an excellent home education. She wanted for nothing. However, because of her mother's wealth and social standing, this young widow was courted by many suitors. In the end, she decided to marry a northern mill owner named Robert Camborne. He was originally from Scotland, but had spent many years in the north of England creating this empire of mills and factories. He was even granted a Baronet by the Queen too. He had three children of his own already before marrying my grandmother. They were Thomas, the oldest, then James then Juliana. Their mother died when they were young apparently, but I don't know anything else. Anyway, the boys were older than my mother, by quite a lot really, so they were all married and living away from home, doing their own thing by the time she reached sixteen. Apart from Juliana though. She was very pretty, but spoilt and sullen. She was the same age as my mother and was therefore to become a debutant in society during the same season down in London. Juliana did not want the competition from my mother, especially as my mother was granted a great dowry according to my grandfather's will and she was also of noble blood, especially as she was a distant relation of the Queen of England. Juliana's jealousy managed to prevail though and my mother was despatched to France, to Paris actually, to live with her step brother James and his wife. This was to ensure that Juliana would be debuting as the only girl from that family. It was just her playing silly buggers if you ask me." He smirked to himself, thinking about the diary entries that described all of this and how his mother had been sad when writing about her father, enraged when she found out why she had been packed off to France and bitter towards her mother for allowing it.

"Anyway, she went to live with this step brother James and his wife, who was apparently quite ill in the head. I don't mean to sound harsh, it's just how it was. She was depressed, I mean really depressed. Me Mam wrote in one of her later journals, only a few years ago now, that she had read a notice in a news paper that Amelia, that's James' wife, was dead. Apparently it was suicide, but me Mam thought otherwise." He shrugged indifferently "who knows".

"Alex?" asked Elise "What do you mean, 'me Mam'?"

Alex laughed kindly at her and himself. He had started to let his guard down before this woman and she was hearing the way he always spoke when being colloquial; letting the Lancashire twang into his accent.

"I'm sorry" he said, elevating his lexis and his accents prestige "where I am from, we tend to say 'me' instead of 'my' and 'Mam' is simply an affectionate way of saying mother". Elise nodded and smiled.

"My mother was a very quirky teenager." He continued "She was very energetic and adored music and dancing. She would buy sheet music and play it over and over again on the piano until she knew it by heart. She loved to sing also and would make up songs to pieces she had learnt that were not meant to be songs. She just loved it. When she was in Paris, she went to the great opera house there" Elise grinned and he stopped.

"I've been there many times, it is amazing. My mother used to sing there when she was about my age. She used to be a ballerina too" she enthused.

"I know" Alex said, but continued with his story before Elise asked him how he knew.

"It was this very first night at the Opera that she met my father. His name was Erik Durose. He was a strange fellow. He was born in the south of France to a middle class family. His father was a medical doctor I believe. He was brought up in a very caring household with six other siblings. There was one strange thing about him though, which made him stand out, which were his eyes. I have never met my father as he was out of my life before I was even born, so I can only tell you what I have learned from my mother. He had these strange eyes, like a cats I suppose. They were great and golden and the iris covered the whole of the eye so there were no whites to them. This was not a problem for anyone who knew him. No-one in the town where he lived was bothered, nor anyone else and it was never considered a disability or deformity. Well, as my father grew up, he decided to leave his family and go to Paris. His parents warned him that people had different attitudes there about his eyes and that he should consider wearing dark coloured spectacles.

My father took this onboard – to the extreme. After he arrived, he had little luck finding a job he was willing to do and his parents were right about the way people would treat him about the way he looked. They were even frightened of him. To him, that was just nonsense behaviour and decided that he could no longer live amongst such backward thinking people, not because they disliked him, but because he disliked them. He disappeared. Literally. He decided to look for somewhere discreet to live where no-one would bother him. After the hustle and bustle of living in a large family and then reaching the capitol city, he desired solitude and found it. Living in the bottom cellar of the Paris opera house. There is a lake down there. Averne I think. My mother knew a song about it. That is were he made his home and stayed there for a number of years."

Alex looked at Elise who was engrossed in what he was saying, he wondered if she would recognise the familiar beginning to the infamous story that her mother had been a part of. He continued.

"He had been living down there since his late teens and now he was twenty-two I think, the night he met my mother. She had seen him watching the performance she was at, from a walkway by the ceiling. She decided to follow him and see who he was and why he was sat up there. I think it was the fact she was young and a bit naive. She had been indulged in her whims since she was very young, but it had not made her selfish or demanding. It had simply lowered her senses of propriety and danger. She apparently found him, and pulled off this mask he had on. She just thought he worked there and that he was messing about, trying to scare her off. The next day, she convinced her step brother to allow her to visit the opera house during the day, which she was allowed to do. She posed as a tourist. She saw him watching her again and he stayed in plain sight. She managed to lose the maid who had been sent to chaperone her and met up with him. I think it was then he realised that the perfect solitude he had created for himself down on that dark lake was about to be invaded by this persisting girl."

"I know who you mean." Elise said "I know you mean the gentleman that my mother was kidnapped by. But he was horribly deformed. How could your mother pursue this man? Can they be the same person?"

"Yes. Quite the same. He wasn't deformed at all. Apart from his eyes that is. Apparently, it is how he made his living. He used putty or clay I think it was to make his face and head look all deformed and horrible. He just used stage make up. If people ever saw him, they thought he was some terrible monster. It was a great big joke to him. That's how he made money. He coerced the management into paying him a substantial wage and would occasionally cause mischief to back up this idea he had created for himself as being an 'Opera Ghost'. Oh he loved it." Alex explained.

"But – how –but – no. I mean, how could this be? My mother saw him herself, as did my father. They both say –" she began, but Alex interrupted.

"They saw what he wanted them to see. Which confuses me. I mean, he was in love with your mother, but chose to remain caked in all that make up and wear a mask on top of that. Maybe he thought that she had to love him as a person, not just the way he looked. I don't know." Said Alex, looking back into the flames, a scowl issued across his face momentarily. He hated the fact this man, his father, had loved another woman other than his mother. It made him resent him even more.

"Well what happened with my mother and your father must have been when? After you were born? I thought your father was dead, you said your mother was a widow" Elise looked confused.

"Yes, now that is a very interesting thought. Apparently, my mother and father were married in secret until her family found out and tore them apart. They convinced her that he was dead and vice versa. You don't want to know how they did that" he grimaced then continued "I think that my father thought my mother was dead and as they were separated before my mother even knew she was carrying me, he never knew I existed. He clearly carried on, thinking his wife as dead and then found your mother, fell for her and all that. He left the opera after that. It was only a few short months ago that my mother found out that he was alive. Now she has gone dashing off on this journey that she refused to let me be part and left me here in your father's protective custody." He continued to look into the fire, bringing his fist to his mouth, tapping it gently in contemplation.

"Why do you need to be in protective custody?" Elise asked. Alex looked at her, his vision was slightly blurred after looking so long into the burning light of the fire.

"My mother escaped from her family, after they took her away from my father. She tried to flee to England. Her family were in hot pursuit though. They were even searching the docks for her, in case she tried to flee to England, which she was trying to do. Some henchman of some variety was at the docks, checking the particular one she was at. Just before he got to her, in come the Boon's, John and Ellen. They had been to bury an Aunt from Kent, who had married a Frenchman many years previous and had lived in France and had died there. These were not wealthy people, but their journey had been paid for by some of their relatives. Just as that man was about to catch my mother, John warned him off, telling him that she was his daughter and to keep his hands off her. The bloke thought he had made a mistake and this girl only looked like who he was after. He quickly departed. That is how they got to know each other and how they ended up taking my mother in. We have been searched for by James Camborne my entire life. My mother even changed the spelling of her surname to evade detection. Then one day, it turned out that he found us. I don't know how and I was recalled from where I was working in Cheshire and we had to leave. We fled to London, where my mother found out about what had happened with your mother and my father and then she came to Paris. She then left me here so that she could go on alone, which tears me up. I'm so worried about her"

Elise looked over at Hortense who had dozed off in her chair and was sleeping soundly. She rose, putting her blanket to one side and glided over to Alex, kneeling in front of him. He moved his fist from his face and sat up, quite alarmed that she was so close. He looked over to Hortense, who was sleeping and relaxed, placing his hands on the arm rests and looking down at the angel in front of him.

Elise took his hand in hers and looked down at it, turning it over and examining his palm. He had strong hands with large fingers. They felt rough on the palms, but his fingers were soft and she knew that his touch would be gentle. She stroked his palm with the tips of her fingers. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she felt embarrassed because she thought he could hear it. She had never felt attracted to anyone as much as she felt for Alex. When she had seen him through the window the day he arrived, she could not take her eyes away from him. Then when she had over heard one of the servants say that the new servant had been taken ill and might not make it, something inside her that she could not explain or resist, told her it was the man she had seen that day. Without thinking, she was dressed in her cloak and dashing to the Garçonnière to tend to him, refusing to leave him until her father called their own doctor. She had stayed with him for hours, mopping his brow and stroking his hair for there was little else she could do. She just stared in amazement at him. She was sure she was in love. Now looking at his hand, knowing he was watching her and not pulling away from her made her believe in her soul that he felt the same way as she. Now he had opened up his soul to her, maybe only partially, but it was enough to know that he had imparted some of his history to her. He trusted her that much. She needed to know for certain.

She looked up. She needed to have it confirmed and his hazel eyes would do that for her, she just knew. He was sat smiling softly at her, his eyes were not holding the intensity from before, but were soft and looking back at her with the expression of utter bliss. She smiled at him, just as softly. They stayed still now, in a thick silence that pulsated with electricity and intention.

Every sinew in her body craved for his mouth to be on hers. Every morsel of her ached with wanting him to take her into his arms and hold her hard against him. She wanted to experience the passion that she could now see overflowing between them and she parted her lips, allowing his skin to feel how heavily she breathed. He remained motionless, only allowing himself to watch her. He suddenly felt wild inside, for the first time in his life. He had always been quite ordered and civil, but something inside his soul longed to let the hand she was holding in hers, take hold of her face and devour her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

At forty-one years old, Charlotte Elizabeth Durose had lived a tormented and desperately unhappy life. Not because of what surrounded her, on the contrary, she adored her adopted family, her job and above all her son. Yet deep inside her soul, she had been disjointed and depressed. Every morning when she awoke, she had to remind herself to breath. She had to remind herself that there was something left to live for, and she would lie there every morning before sun rise and think about those things – the most important of those being Alexander Erik Durrows, her pride and joy.

Now it was early evening in the House of Music and she was sat at the low white-wooden window seat thinking through her planned 'departure'. She smiled as the word crossed her mind; for it was not a departure, more an emancipation. She felt as though her pain was unravelling on the breeze like cotton from a spindle. Soon she could forget about the world and yes, be selfish and if necessary hated for it by those who she knew would miss her. Now she knew that her son was grown up, James' petty hunting would soon cease and that the mystery surrounding her husband had been solved. It was all over.

She had spent to day writing letters. One she had written to Ellen, making practical arrangements regarding the home she had still shared with Peggy Topping. She also made _other_ arrangements, which made her well up at the thought, but continued to write them down. She did not wish Alex to do them, he would not be able to bear it. Then she had the task of explaining why. How could she explain why? How can anyone who didn't think this way and feel this pain understand? Why can't they understand that she was going stop her own misery and pain? Like shooting a lame horse. Just because she was a human being, did not mean that the same means were not needed. Human law dictates that one is not allowed to kill another, even in the necessity of Euthanasia. Therefore, it was down to the individual to sort out themselves.

Then a letter to John Boon, thanking him for all his kindness and the love he had shown her, which she had lacked from a parent figure her entire life. She thanked him from saving her life when she was a young and frightened girl and therefore allowing her to bring Alex into the world safely. She hoped he would understand, but she doubted it.

She penned a letter to her mother. The Camborne family still resided in their usual house for it was a former ancestral seat of her mothers. She told her everything about her life; meeting Erik, losing Erik, giving birth, working on the pit brow and then as a teacher. She told her about James. She had to. She doubted her mother would even care, especially as she was now such an old dame, but she had to tell her. She blamed her for what James had done to her, which was not just taking her away from Erik.

She had paused whilst writing this. For a long time she had pushed it to the very back of her memory because it was so horrific to recall. Yet there it was: clear and bright in her mind once more like white hot metal and it made her cry. Yet she forced herself to go over every detail of what he had done, the night he had tried - and then she ran away to Erik and…

She took a deep breath and wrote, tears fell from her eyes and smudged parts of the letter's half dried ink, but she cared not now. As long as most of the words were legible:

_Now I must speak about James. Why he has pursued me all of these years and refused to allow my son and I solace in our new lives. You must know the truth about him and what I suffered whilst I was in France. _

_Not long after I met my husband, he had made it quite plain to me thathe did not relish my company and wished to be left alone, I decided that I would ignore his wishes and continue to discover him. He threatened me, lied to me and tried to use illusion in order to throw me off the scent of my pursuit, but failed. I think I enjoyed the chase. I was young and foolish and thought it was a jolly game._

_After I had discovered where he lived, he had grabbed me by my throat, pinning me against a wall and threatened to kill me if I ever returned there. I was frightened and ran straight home to Amelia and James. I had resolved that night to never return to see this man and nurse my hurt pride and indeed, my feelings._

_That same night, James appeared at my bedroom door, just as I was ready for bed and about to extinguish my candle. He did not knock, but walked straight into my chamber. He was in a state of undress, as though he had not finished getting ready for bed when he needed to see me. I immediately rose, for I thought something had happened to Amelia - as she was ill a great deal of the time. _

_I was wrong. After I asked him if it was Amelia, he smirked at me, shutting the door and locking it behind him. I had always felt ill at ease within his company and took no exception here. I took my dressing gown and wrapped it about me in order to grant myself some modesty and backed away from him as he advanced. Yet as I backed to the wall, he continued to come towards me. I kept asking him what he wanted, and if it were nothing, then he should leave me alone. He ignored me and jus kept getting closer, taking his time with each step._

_He grabbed my wrists and pushed me to the bed. My hair was down about my shoulders. He must have knocked it out of the way with the force, for he noticed the red marks on my neck were Erik had attacked me. When he saw them, he went wild with fury. He started to accuse me of being with boys and letting them touch me, which they were not allowed to do because I was his property. I told him I had been attacked by someone, and that I had no male suitors, but he did not care for my explanations. He threw his whole body on top of me and started to pummel me with his fists. Then he tried to rip away my night dress and he was feeling my body. I was screaming and screaming for help, but no-one came, although many people must have heard my pleas for help._

_He managed to rip the front of my gown away and was tearing at my underwear. I was so frightened, and my voice was sore with screaming and pleading with him to stop. I caught my breath for a moment and then saw an opportunity to bite him on his neck. I did so as hard and as briefly as I could. He responded by getting off me, pulling me to the floor and kicking me repeatedly in the head and body, calling me things I could not repeat. I was doubled over and in so much pain. There was just blood everywhere._

_He then said that I was 'in no fit state' for him and that he would have me in the morning, now that I'd had my lesson taught to me for resisting him. With that, he left, locking my bedroom door from the outside._

_The moment I could stand, I threw some clothes on, picked the lock and ran straight out of the house. I had nowhere to go. I knew no-one and even if I did and went to them, they would surely deliver me back into James' hands. I did not think though, I ran. I ran until I could not. The blood was still pouring out of my wounds and I was sick with fatigue and felt faint. I ambled along the Paris streets until I found myself at the Opera house once more._

_The rain then started to pour. It lashed down on me and it was so cold. I found the route back to the fifth cellar again that I had only just discovered that day. I got as far as the lake when my legs gave way and I slumped to the floor. It was a sheltered place if nothing else. I knew that I was at risk here too, but I was so desperate, I knew of nowhere else that I could try, at least for shelter._

_Then there was Erik. He walked out of a seemingly empty shadow, I turned to look at him and tell him why I had been there. All he had to do was look at my swollen and bleeding face to know why I was there. Yet pity did not spring freely from him. He told me that he was not a charity and that he had disconnected himself from society on purpose as he did not want to be disturbed by all it's 'nonsense'. He pointed at me, telling me I had deserved whatever had happened to me and that I should leave before he did worse to me. He stood there and waited until I could stand and followed me out side to make sure I left. I did not argue with him. I had resigned myself to the fact that I had no-one in this world that cared for me and that I had no-where to go._

_I wandered around for hours, hopeless and in the depths of pain and rejection. I eventually collapsed against the side of a bridge over the Seine and wept as the rain came down. No-one even noticed me, thinking me a beggar and walked by, although this was seldom for it was very late and the streets deserted._

Charlotte dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. The memory of that horrific night still hurt to recall. It was hard to keep her language calm as she wrote and her writing legible, yet she had to get this over to her mother. When she finished the letter, she sealed it, addressed it and left it on the side with all the others.

She had sat back in her chair a moment and then tried to contemplate what had happened next. She had fallen asleep in the rain on that bridge. For she had felt drowsy and remembered closing her eyes with the distinct impression that she would never open them again.

Yet she did. Inside a room she had never been in before with a man sat on the edge of the bed watching her, exactly like the first morning she had spent in this house. The only difference was the fact it was clearly dark, but lit warmly. The man on the edge of the bed remained the same, although some years had passed since both occasions.

The expression on his face had not changed either. Erik had sat there wearing the exact same outfit, now she cared to recall, and watched her sleeping. As she awoke, he had the same look of worry and panic across his face, which melted in relief at the sight of her revived. Back then, it was the start of their relationship, when she had gone to live with Erik and where they first fell in love. Now it was the signal of the end. How wretched and cold inside she felt.

Now, the broken shards of those most noble feelings were cutting up her soul. Even though she had accepted he was dead, she never accepted that she was to be without him. She believed whole-heartedly that he had haunted her. She could have sworn that she caught glimpses of him in crowds and could even smell his scent in her bedroom in the morning, as though she had been lying in his arms all night. Now she accepted that she was clearly seeing things that were simply not there, like seeing shapes in the clouds. He had not haunted her, like she had supposed. How could he? He was still in the opera house chasing the frilly skirts of chorus girls and then opening this for lot's of other ladies in pretty dresses from rich households. This house to her felt akin to a brothel.

Now there was no choice for her. Her mind was set in her deliverance from the pain in which she resided internally. She smiled to herself at the bleakness of the prospect of no longer being in so much internal agony. It was cancer of the soul and there was only one way to alleviate it and set her free. Perhaps she had deserved it? Perhaps not.

Now she turned her head from the window and towards the small writing desk once again. She rose and crossed over to it, sitting down on the green velvet padding of the rose wood chair. She was going to write to Erik, her husband. She had thought better of writing his letter first because she would have been so welled up with anger and pain that she would have written furiously, consuming page after page with her story. Instead, she had devoted the time to writing to those she cared about, or who needed to know what was to happen and why it had to.

All her anguish had been spent on her letter to her mother. Now she was to write to Erik. The only feeling inside her that wanted to make itself known above all the others was anger. She decided to not write a long letter and instead wrote him a poem:

_Erik,_

_I have no words to explain the wrongs you have done to me over these twenty-three years. You have broken not just my heart but my soul. This poem is the only way I can find to explain my feelings._

_You were the rage that ripped me out_

_You were the virus in my eye_

_You were the cruel and hateful lout_

_You were the life that passed me by_

_You were - not are - and won't be_

_You were the triumph that should see_

_The breaking dawn to greet me_

_In stead you denied me to be free_

_Hoping for an answer_

_With a dagger by your side_

_You are a manic dancer_

_With your partner as your pride_

_You were the only hope_

_In a prison with no name_

_You were instead my hanging rope_

_And sold our love in shame_

_I am sorry I wasted so many feelings and so many years on you. The only thing I am grateful to you for is for giving me our son, Alexander. I was pregnant when we parted and brought him up alone. He is a beautiful and wonderful young man. I am only deeply sorry that I must leave him._

_Adieu._

_Charlotte._

She held the letter before her and smiled again to herself and at the poem she had let flow from her pen. She had not written a poem since she was a child, yet it seemed like the worlds had been there in her mind for an eternity and needed to escape at last. What was written only really made sense to her, but it felt right. Now she looked out of the window at the growing dusk. She must prepare.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Damn you Erik!" erupted Ada, stomping up to him in his windowless office. Her eyes were narrowed and her face had screwed up with anger.

"What?" he asked calmly, sitting at his desk writing and not for one moment taking his eyes away from the page.

"What do you mean what? You know this has got to stop Erik, this is cruel. It's beyond cruel. It's pretty sick. You have got to stop this! Now!" with her final words she placed her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over.

Erik looked up at her in the brightly lit room, she was very angry – it was clear and the distain across her face was obvious. He sighed, throwing his pen down dramatically and sat back in his chair. He then motioned with one hand for Ada to sit, which she did.

"You better have a stack of good reasons why I shouldn't just go up there and blow the lid off this whole thing" Ada retorted to his seemingly infinite and infuriatingly calm demeanour.

"Ada, be calm. I know what I'm doing" he offered in a quiet voice. Ada shook her head slowly. She was calming down and starting to see why Erik was acting in the way he had been. It was difficult for him – beyond any torture she could think of. She relented, placing her hands on her knee and looking at him sadly.

"Oh Erik, stop doing this to yourself, dear. You have just got to stop this. That woman up there has been in love with you for the past twenty or so years, devoted her whole life to you." Ada's anger had clearly dissipated and been replaced by pity, he noted. He hated being felt sorry for, for it was not him who had suffered anywhere near as _them._

"How can I now start to second guess myself, Ada?" he looked down at his hands, which were now across his torso, his fingers woven.

"You just did." she said.

He took in a deep breath and sighed as he began to speak "I guess so. I have never wanted Charlotte or Alexander to be without anything. Except me. It was the price I had to pay so that they could be free. Or so I thought. If I cannot be with them, then I must make her think she is without me. Her mental step brother is a fearful and powerful wretch and would certainly have upped his efforts to find and murder them both, had we not made that deal. I have to abide by it. My wife and my son are all that matter. I cannot change things. I cannot take the risk." He studied his thumbs whilst he spoke. He knew Ada already knew all of this, but he still found it hard to look at her whilst he said it again.

"The deal you made with James is redundant, Erik. He's in France, probably, but not here, not right now. He probably has no idea that Charlotte is here. Surely now you can protect them here at the School? Erik, you have to tell Charlotte the truth. About what is really going on. She's going to be leaving soon. You have got to tell her. You have suffered, but so has she. She has worn black her whole life for Christ's sake! That shows how much misery this whole thing has put her through. She now thinks you are some scoundrel. She even thinks you are going to marry me. It's just so cruel. I'm having no more dealings in your games." Ada looked like she was going to cry and Erik could not bear this too. Another person he had made suffer.

"You are right. You are." He was nodding now, slowly and emphatically.

"I lost Eleanor to illness and then for me, that was it. I will never love another woman as much as I loved her. She was the love of my life and I worshipped her. That was twenty years ago now. My Eleanor is dead though, I mean, she won't be coming back. I have a lot of closure because she died in my arms. I was there, I saw her go. Charlotte was given some old manky corpse's hand to try and convince her that her mad step brother had killed you. She thought you were dead, but instead of remarrying and moving on with her life; she brought up that kid on her own and dedicated it all to you. You have that chance that I can never have and long for. You got this amazing opportunity to just gather her up in your arms and never let her go again. Screw the consequences. Get that boy of yours moved here and never let them go. You got to do it Erik. You have to." Ada was animated now and he loved to watch her talk. Even though they had lived together for not far off two decades, he never tired of listening to her or being intrigued by her American accent and idiosyncrasies. Besides, it was a way of diverting the welling misery that was enveloping his very being.

"I'd get your ass up there now, Durose, if I were you and tell her the whole truth. I swear you will not for a second regret it. Now go!" her tone had changed and she was now on her feet and walking over to Erik, playfully pushing at his shoulder to try and get him to rise from his seat. He did.

"I will, but first I think I need to consider what the deuce I'm to say to her." He shook his head quickly at himself, then looked up at Ada and smiled.

"As ever Ada, you are my voice of sanity. Thank you. Now I need to be alone for a while to think." He kissed her forehead.

"Well don't you be spending forever thinking Erik, it's getting late" she guided his glace to a shelf above a mahogany cabinet across the room, where sat a small but ostentatious clock, ticking quietly to itself the seconds past seven o'clock in the evening.

"I'm going to the hall to help the other teachers with the girls and then get them all to bed for about nine. You just take your time, but don't take forever about it." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling at him and then she left.

He stood for a moment just looking at the door. Thoughts and memories were beginning to wash over him like shadows prevailing over the landscape at dusk. He walked about the room, extinguishing the candles that illuminated it from their exquisite candelabra holders. He preferred candle light to lamps, but lamps were brighter and gave off less heat so a few brass lamps hung about the room as well and he turned them all down to a mere glimmer. The room was now in a state of gloom, with large savage shadows lingering in the corners and crevices. He needed the familiar and favourable dark now to think. He only felt comfortable at night or in the dark. He'd been inclined to all that was dark for as long as he could remember. As soon as he had found a good enough excuse to separate himself from the world and retire to his beloved darkness, he seized upon it. Now he was again immerged in it once again, only a few flickering candles and some dull lamps lit the room.

He had to go back in order to go forward. He had to try and remember what had happened all those years ago. He must make some sense out of it in order to tell it to Charlotte.

"You?" said the distinctly English voice belonging to the man he knew was in the room, but could not see where.

Erik turned.

"Me what? What is this all about? What the hell do you want?" Erik said grimly, eyeing the tattered old barn that he had been summoned to.

The owner of the voice moved out of the darkness and into the light where Erik was stood, which was quite descent. The stranger had been silently observing this 'rival' as he secretly termed him in his own black soul. He wanted to see what he was up against and of course, what she saw in this man that she did not see in him.

He walked slowly towards Erik, a jovial and benign expression gracing his features – this was to perhaps disarm him. He did not want an outright fight. Not yet anyway.

"I am James Camborne" said the man smiling, holding out a hand to Erik, which he did not take, instead, he folded his arms and glared at him, now that they were standing directly in front of each other. He had a chance to asses this man who had robbed him of his noble little Charlotte.

A badly suppressed scowl had gripped Erik's face, making his mouth rise slightly at one side of his clamped lips. James was angered by the gravity of his rival's appearance and the green snake of jealousy writhed about his brain. This Erik was tall and yes, extremely handsome; jaw length brown black hair, strange dark eyes with even and thick brows and olive skin. Now he was distorting these looks with this grimace that was snatched across his thundering face and he was breathing hard, as though he was in a desperate inward struggle as to not let his folded arms unfurl and knock him across the room.

"Very well" said James, letting his arm move back to his side.

"According to the public records, it would appear that you have married my sister" James said calmly and almost dismissively.

"So?" said Erik evenly.

"So, my good man, that means we find ourselves in a rather tricky situation now, don't we?" James replied cordially.

"It has nothing to do with you. Charlotte and I are happy and wish to get on with our lives without anything or anyone destroying it" Erik said, clenching his teeth, but still breathing hard.

"Such devotion!" laughed James, as though remarking on a comment made by a toddler that sounded too grown up for them to use and therefore sounded quite amusing.

"So why did you accept my invitation then if things are meant to be so well between you and my sister? Sneaking out behind her back in order to see me. All very cloak and dagger, do you not think?" he smiled, displaying uneven and dirty teeth.

"My _wife_, is all that matters to me, sir, and therefore I am going to resolve this matter once and for all. To get you out of our lives for good." Erik said darkly, lowering his head, but keeping his blazing stare fixed on James.

"And how do you propose to do that?" remarked James, casually taking a cigar from a slim silver case that was inside his jacket pocket.

"By any means necessary" Erik replied, lowering the tone of his voice.

"Good to hear it" James said, lighting the cigar.

James then turned his head to the left "Okay boys, out you come" and with that command the barn started to fill with men. Not just coming from the left, but from all directions. They stood in a circle, not speaking, just staring in that intimidating manor that all henchman seem to be able to do, just before they are allowed to attack on their master's command.

Erik did not even take his gaze away from James' smug expression. Instead, a manic smile spread across Erik's lips.

"How typical" he remarked with a small laugh.

"How so?" said James, blowing out a stream of smoke towards Erik.

"A man that beats and attempts to rape a woman is too much of a coward to even face another man. All cowards operate that way. I'd have been disappointed if you had not brought in the troops, it would have meant I had to credit you with some back bone. I'm glad I was not disappointed." Erik smiled that awful smile again, still not ripping his gaze away from James' face.

"Yes well" James sighed "when one is wealthy, one can get another poor soul to do their bidding for them." He gave Erik a bright smile and turned round to take a brief account of who was there, and then turned back to Erik.

"My dear boy, these men are not here to kill or maim you, oh not at all. Why would I waste their talents on you? No no no. They are for Charlotte." He was enjoying this situation greatly and suppressed a chuckle.

Erik did not say anything. He just stood there inwardly agog at this threat. Any threat made to his wife was a horrific insult to him and it made him begin to shake with rage. He knew that this was all a game. He knew that the invitation that was sent to the opera house addressed to 'Monsieur Durose' was for him and he had taken it before anyone had a chance to ask the post man who that gentleman was. He knew that being asked to come to this barn on the outskirts of the city was a ploy to lure him there in order for something shocking to transpire, but he could not have let it go.

"Answer my question then" Erik managed "what do you want?"

"Charlotte, of course" smiled James.

"You're sick" replied Erik.

"Not as sick as someone who left his large and loving family to live like a strange hermit in the fifth and lowest cellar of Garnier's _masterpiece_. You con the manager into believing you are ghost so they pay you not to cause mischief as theatre folk are so _superstitious_. You take advantage of people's natures. You are a scoundrel and no mistake. Imagine what would happen if all this information I have procured suddenly became _public_?" James took another draw on his cigar whilst looking bemusedly at Erik, interested in what he would say in return.

Erik did not relinquish his insane stare. He smiled a horrible and menacing smile as divine as it was unsettling.

"Oh right, you're trying to black mail me then are you? Heh. Go ahead. I don't care. Tell the world. Let them all know. Would you like me to help you? I can fill in the gaps, you know, answer any questions people may have. I disfigured my visage with no more than clay and make up. Very easy to do – to look like a deformed ghost. I could hold classes. "How to become a Phantom". That's a very good title, do you not think?"

The smirk on James face faded at Erik's bravado. He had expected him to just think the obvious and plead: don't kill my wife, I'll do anything. Instead, James found himself facing a formidable opponent. He was beginning to relish crushing his soul like an ant under foot.

"Do not be so sure of yourself Monsieur Durose" James began "You forget that I am a _very_ wealthy man and therefore, as you can see, am a very powerful man" he swept his hand about the right side of him emphatically, as if he were playing the devil, bribing Jesus with all the kingdoms of the world, knowing that he would not be remotely impressed at the site of such power and wealth. Erik was someone that did not have interest in worldly possessions. According to James' spies, the only two things this strange man cared about in the whole world was music, spending hours and hours composing and playing it and of course, Charlotte.

"The bottom line is this Erik" James began before Erik had a chance to retort "I_ will_ have Charlotte murdered. If you run I will find you. If you go to the Police for protection in anyway, I will use my powers to have you returned to me. It's a game now. Do you understand? A game where I win no matter what strategy you try. I can have her killed. If I can't have her, then no-one else shall. It's unfortunate, but I can live with that. Can you?" he puffed again at his cigar, sending smoke rising towards the battered ceiling of this old shack.

"We'll take our chances." Erik grinned.

"No you won't, because Erik, I don't care much for games. I'm presenting you with a choice dear boy. Right here, right now. You either abide by my rules, or your darling Charlotte dies. Pick. Quickly now, I haven't got all day" James said, staring back at Erik.

"No" Erik simply said.

"No? Dear boy! I think you have got it into your head that I am not serious, so therefore, I'll reveal a bit of the plot. Whilst we have been stood here having a jolly good chat, my men have by-passed your security – very well constructed by the way, took us ages to crack - and have broken into your strange little house on the lake and they have taken my darling sister back by force. They have told her that you have been murdered. She's currently at the gagged and bound stage by now I would say. No doubt struggling to get free and all that. Now, this is where you come in. The story can go either way now, it's up to you. You will of course want to dash back, not believing a single word I say, but that's up to you. When you get home, you will find that my words are correct and come after her and indeed, me. Now, all this bloodshed I can see in the future and I promise it will be hers, can be altered, just by you simply agreeing to leave. I'm good enough to spare your wretched life aren't I? You can carry on living in your dark empire of music and being the abomination you are to your hearts content, but my sister is the price you pay. Or she will pay if you insist on wanting to take her back. You can meet me back here, same time, tomorrow night. Then I think, after you have gone home, you will see I am not bluffing and be very willing to speak." After this speech, he continued to draw on his cigar, a smile once again gracing his lips.

Erik found himself astonished by what he just heard. He didn't even want to throttle this vermin, he wanted to be home and gather his wife up in his arms to know she was safe. His expression remained the same though, but now it was a poker face. He simply turned and walked out of the room.

The moment he was out of there, he broke into a run. He leapt onto his horse, one he had 'borrowed' from the opera house and flew home as fast as the horse could take him.

Erik heard the little clock jingle the sound for half past the hour. He rose, as depthlessly and boundlessly melancholy as ever. Those memories of James had haunted him and twisted him in endless agony all these years. He walked over to a tall cupboard and opened the door. Inside where piles of yellowing sheet music that was used to teach with, that now looked dirty and grey in the barely lit room. On the door was a mirror, which he would glance in briefly before grabbing a handful of the papers to make sure he was presentable, before hurrying off to a class. Now he looked at it in the dull light. His face was wet were he had insensibly wept during his remembrances. Now the rest of the horrid tale flooded wildly and ferociously over him like a tidal wave of unnatural proportions.

"I had to give in. I had no choice! I got back and found she was gone. He was right. But he never stopped me being with her in my own way, did he? He never counted on that" Erik told his reflection. But it was not him that needed to be convinced.

He wiped his tired face with the sleeves of his shirt and walked to a coat stand by the door, removing his jacket from it and putting it on. He smoothed it down with his hands, but could not really tell if his efforts where successful or not in the dull light. He then looked down at the brass door knob as it gave off a gloomy shine and then took a deep breath, absentmindedly running his hand through his thick grey-black locks.

He reached out for the knob, taking it firmly in his hand, taking meticulous note of everything. It was the moment he had craved since that night he had just remembered. He was going to remember everything to her.

**Authors Note:**

I've had some encouragement with this story; especially as some of you lovely people have added it as a favourite, so I shall endeavour to continue it to its conclusion. Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks, Catherine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The bare wooden floorboard squeaked as Erik reached Charlotte's door. He had wanted not to announce his arrival and berated himself for not exercising more stealth. He rapped quietly on the door, but loud enough for the occupant to hear.

His heart was pounding. It was as though his entire life had been leading up to this moment. A few seconds passed and no movement could be heard from within. He knocked again, this time a bit louder.

Nothing.

He then took the handle and opened the door, walking straight into the room. It was almost completely black, lit only by the dim light from lamps in the corridor outside. He turned to the dresser near the door and fumbled about until he found an obliging candle, which he lit. He held it before his eyes, to look around the room. Nothing. No-one was there. The bed was made in a precise and tidy manner, as though it was not to be slept in again. He went to the wardrobe and opened it. Her clothes had been removed, but a glance at the case in which they had arrived in told him that she had not yet left.

He placed the candle down on the dresser and found a lamp, which he lit. This was much brighter and gave more light to the room. He looked now at the space in detail. Something felt wrong. He could not pin-point what it was, but something in his soul was telling him that there was something horribly not right. This feeling was icy cold and slithered its way up his spine, stopping only near his heart to jab an icy barb into it before carrying on its journey north, into his brain. His common sense struggled to overcome his growing and unreasonable dread by offering simple solutions like 'she's gone for a walk' or 'she's just gone out for a moment'. None of these images seemed to fit though and the icy cold feeling was now writhing about in his skull.

He breathed in deeply to try and calm himself and allow his mind to function more rationally. He looked about the room for any clues as to where she could have gone. Her cloak hung on the back of the door like a shroud awaiting to be placed on a body in a morgue. It made him shudder, so he turned away from it. He then looked at the dresser and to his almost shock at not noticing it before, he saw a neat pile of letters, all addressed in her writing.

He snatched them up in his hands, rapidly placing one behind the other after glancing at the address. He saw one for Alex. He dropped the rest of the pile onto the table and opened it, reading what his wife had written to their son. He read quickly, his brain frantically absorbing only the most important information at speed.

He gasped as he dropped the letter to the table. His eyes wide and his mouth falling open. His heart had stopped – a million and one horrific images flashed before his inward eyes. He stared into space momentarily then he dashed out of the room, running frantically down the stairs and along a dull stone lined corridor into the seemingly empty teacher's sitting room.

"Ada!" he yelled.

"Yes?" she answered, half surprised by his tone and half shocked by the unexpected interruption. She jumped to her feet from a chair in the corner, dropping the book she had been reading.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked as she reached his side. She had never seen him so afraid – never and it scared her.

"She's gone" he managed, his brain too tangled and turbulent to manage a more comprehensive answer.

"Gone?" queried Ada.

"She's written letters, I read one for Alex, she's going to kill her…" which was all he could manage before tears fell from his great gold eyes.

"Right" said Ada assertively, she was always able to keep her head in a crisis and she was not going to let her greatest friend down now.

"We are going to find her and we are going to sort this thing out! Get a grip Erik. I know it's hard, but we are going to find her. Now come on!" she turned from him, taking his hand and leading the way, rushing him out of the room.

4


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"We could not have possibly looked through the entire place already!" Erik said quickly, a grimace snatching hold of his face, furrowing his already deeply concerned brow.

"Erik, I assure you we have" Ada confirmed, fidgeting with a silver locket that hung round her neck.

"Perhaps we're not looking at this objectively enough" she offered, noticing a gleam appear on the lower lids of his eyes.

"How so?" he whispered, clearly in a desperate inward battle to keep control of himself.

"Well" she began, looking grave "Where would you go if you were wanted to …kill yourself?" she hated herself for not euphemising the words, but time was short and they had to find her immediately.

Erik looked up at her, hurt pulsating from his stare, which softened quickly at the urgency of the matter.

"We've not checked the grounds" he croaked "we've not checked the roof".

"Right, okay, here's the game plan" she said calmly and rationally, even though the panic emanating from Erik was infecting her very soul.

"You go check the roof, I'll head into the grounds and look around, then when you're done up there, come down here and we'll look together. We'll cover more ground that way okay?"

She held theauthoritative voice of someone who could deal with a crisis, very much fitting the demeanour of her profession. Erik nodded in agreement, briefly touching her upper arm as a sign of gratitude and then fled in the direction of the stairs.

-+-+-

Erik took the stairs two and three at a time. His breath was tight in his chest, but he ignored it and continued his wild dash to the buildings summit. He flung open doors and flew down dark corridors until he was inside the attic, beside the timber steps that lead to the roof.

He paused for the briefest of moments, granting his heart a second to stop racing. What relief he would feel if she was up there! What would he do if she was not? He shook his head in an effort to throw these questions away.

He leapt up the steps and flung open the outer door that lead to the roof.

Rain was pouring down heavily outside, making it almost impossible to make anything out, especially as there was no moon discernable in the troubled and molten sky. He cursed this under his breath and then made his way carefully along the front part of the structure as the roof rose further up beside him. He headed towards the end of the raised section, to an area near the end of the building that had a flat roof and low grey-green battlements as decoration to line them.

The rain became heavier still, and as if to underline its tempestuous vivacity, bright purple light lit the land, followed by a resonating boom that vibrated through his body. He was grateful for this: he could at least use the bright and occasional brilliance of the lightening to view the area before him.

Another jagged light lit up the sky in the direction he was heading, followed quickly by another wild roar. In ancient Egypt, the people believed that thunder and lightening was the evil god Seth banging on his mighty drum up in the heavens, no doubt to make man fear him. If this was true, then Erik felt fear. Not due to some long ago deity, but for the other half of his soul that had left those notes in her room.

He stepped onto the flat and open part of the roof and scanned it, pausing for another flash to help him see through the blinding rain. As if the tempest knew he was waiting, the sky gave way once more to a bright and commanding shock of light. This illuminated the roof and the single figure stood on the edge of the battlement, looking down like a gargoyle.

Erik did not think – he acted and did so on instinct. He leapt forward to reach her before she jumped, but stopped in his tracts. He watched her raise both arms either side of her head, with her palms up, towards the sky. He watched her wet face look up and saw the heart-rendering look of utter misery on her face. Then a demonic smile erupted from her tormented mouth. It was twisted and crude and made him shudder.

To his horror, her head turned down, her long dark blonde hair now black with rain and the darkness around her clung to her face. She was leaning forwards.

Erik thundered down the small gangway towards her snatching furiously with his hands and managing to grab a combination of hair and fabric in one hand.

He threw out the other hand, grabbing for something more substantial, which came in the form of her shoulder. He took a firmer grip of it with the other hand, hauling them both back hard against the gravel like surface of the roof.

Erik panted wildly, gathering her to him greedily for a moment, then flinging her on her back in the next. He swept away the long straggly clumps of hair that stuck heavy and wet to her face. He looked at her – her face was closed. Her eyes were shut and her mouth relaxed, as though she had passed out. To make sure she was still breathing, be plunged an ear onto her chest, feeling satisfied when it rose and fell slowly, with the rhythmic thud of her heart counter pointing it.

He lifted her up in his arms, her head hanging backwards, and proceeded to walk back carefully towards the door.

His whole body felt numb and heavy. The shock of the entire episode taking control of him now as he made his way back across the leading of the roof and towards the door that lead to the attic.

He carried her back to his room, leaving behind him a long dripping trail of rain water along the floor. He stooped to open the door to her room and then walked to the bed where he placed her down with extreme care as though she would break if he lay her down with my more force.

He then dashed about the room – lighting candles and lamps then throwing open the wardrobe door snatching frantically at blankets and a spare night shirt.

The fire in his room had been lit already for him and gave a satisfying glow and the more important wealth of heat. He then proceeded to undress her, cursing himself for fidgeting too long with her buttons. He was at the point of just ripping her wet clothes off her body, when he finally managed to free her of them. He flung them over the other side of the room where they landed with a dull squelch.

He took everything off her body, including her underwear as it was also soaked. He was not remotely phased to see her naked, considering the time that had passed, in Charlotte's mind, when he had last seen her with no clothes on. He took a towel and dried her then pulled her into a night shirt of his that he had rarely ever worn.

He swathed her in blankets, then proceeded to pull her damp hair over her shoulder and tie it place with the gold cord that tied back his maroon curtains. After this was accomplished, he picked her up once again and sat by the fireplace on a large overstuffed arm chair with her gathered up on his lap.

He clung to her unconscious frame, her head lolling on his shoulder. He was now able to think. The only word that he could think of was 'why?' which was quickly followed up by thousands of answers and all of them were his fault. Tears silently rolled down his face. The destruction of the most important woman of his life almost came to pass if he had not managed – just in time – to stop it from happening.

He shook his head slowly. He was thinking about what must have brought her to that decision. If only she knew that she was never alone. If only she knew that he had always been with her. If only she knew the truth about what really happened with Christine Daae. If only she knew the truth of this whole wretched saga. He turned to face her and leaned his cheek against her gradually drying hair and closed his eyes to try and get some sort of control of himself.

A knock sounded at the door, which was then followed by the door creeping open. In walked Ada, looking wet and an expression of utter concern written all over her face. She walked over to the pair and knelt down beside them, so that she was facing them both.

"Thank god" she whispered to Erik, briefly laying her hand on his shoulder.

Erik raised his head and opened his eyes, turning to look at Ada.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot you were outside still." He whispered back to her, in a shaky voice. Ada watched him take him a deep breath to try and reset his composure.

"She okay?" Ada asked cautiously, looking at the unconscious woman.

"She must have fainted when I grabbed her" Erik managed, his face darkening slightly.

"She was on the roof then, huh?" Ada asked in a low voice.

"Yes" Erik replied, looking over again at Charlotte.

"You've taken her clothes off and dried her, which is the main thing right now. We might need to send for the doctor in the morning to make sure she's okay."

Erik looked into the flames for a moment and then turned back to look at Ada.

"Certainly" he replied, raising his free left hand to caress Charlotte's pale and unmoving face.

"It's all my fault Ada" he began, his chin trembling as he cupped Charlotte's cheek in his hand.

"Erik? This is not the time or the place for you to begin to talk that way. This whole mess was caused by some sick perverted loon who wanted to screw his own step sister. Not you. I admit, you could have tried to stop this a while ago, but you did what you thought was the best thing for both her and Alex and you can't beat yourself up about that. I've seen how much you have suffered because of this and dear god Erik, you truly have. Don't dwell, dear, you just be strong for her"

After Ada had finished speaking, Erik turned away from Charlotte and smiled at his friend. They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the occasional crackle of the fire.

"Ada" Erik began "You should dry off and go to bed. It's late and you clothes are still wet."

Ada nodded solemnly and stood up slowly.

"You should get both of you to bed too. Wait until her hair has dried a bit more and then go." Ada spoke quietly, smiling at Erik and turned to leave.

"I'll sort out the classes tomorrow and I'll ask Emma to take your class, she's an excellent violinist so she'll do fine. I'll get breakfast ready for you both, so don't bother coming out of here and leaving her"

Erik looked over at Ada and nodded in agreement "I will never leave her again" he sounded resolute and this made Ada happy. _At last_ she thought.

"I'll bring everything you'll need. I'll also check in on her in the morning, in case we need to get her a doctor. Good night Erik."

"Thank you Ada. Good night"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The night was brutally cold and chill, making Elise's rigid hands grasp tighter to the blankets already wrapped around her as she sat up in bed. Everything was quiet, except the relentless pitter-patter of sleet tapping at the window and the occasional howl of wind sweeping down the gaping, unlit fireplace.

The house was nearly deserted now; Hortense had gone to stay with family as she was now ill, just as the wretched sleet set in. This really was the most awful winter Elise had ever encountered in her sixteen years and it made her shudder.

There were now only two scullery maids and four men, two of whom usually worked in the brewery in the grounds, one of them was a valet who served under Leighton, who had left the house and the other was the English servant, Alex.

Elise was now in charge of the entire household and estate in the absence of her family and any of the high ranking servants. It was bizarre to her; not the notion of having to work around the house, but the fact that she was so alone. She had never felt so isolated before – having grown up with three younger, squabbling brothers and a veritable army of servants. The house was never, ever to her recollection so quiet and so lonely, as was she.

She had ordered that most of the house be shut off, so the remaining band of servants, all of which were recovering from the same illness, lethargically covered furniture with great grey dust sheets and pulled the shutters over the windows in those rooms that where not in use any longer. By the time they had finished, there were very few rooms left open, which helped remove for Elise, some of the harrowing loneliness and dejection she felt when ambling about the cold, quiet corridors.

The only sunshine in her life was Alex. She found it strange that amongst this bleak misery, there was something to smile about and it came in the shape of devastatingly handsome Englishman.

Her room suddenly felt colder for some queer reason and she sat up with some alarm. Her thoughts had cut off and had changed to trying to solve the reason for why she was suddenly so freezing. Her teeth began to chatter and so she tugged at the blankets, wrapping them round her head so that only her eyes, nose and mouth peeked through the material. To her surprise, her breath came out in a stream of grey-white steam before eyes and her lips felt rough and chapped – as thought her body was responding to the extreme cold.

She got up out of bed to check the dimly lit room to see if there was an unnecessary draft, but she was unable to see one. A small vibration now shook the floor. She stood wide eyed and stock still like a rabbit caught in a bright light. The vibration began to worsen still and jolt her slightly. Nothing in the room jittered about though or began to sway though. She reached out and touched the wall – her fingers greeted with a deep rumbling sensation that seemed to emanate from the walls and floor.

The delicate ornaments in the mantelpiece did not move, or the rosewood chair in the corner of the room. Nothing _looked_ as though it was shaking, even though she felt she was.

A roar.

A wild frantic roar that could have been regarded as inhuman if it hadn't trailed off into a wail, filled the corridor outside of her room. She let out a sharp cry before dropping the blankets that hung around her to the floor, leaving her stood in the cold dark barefoot, in her long sleeved night dress.

The vibration died away into nothingness and the vocalisation of other worldly anguish reduced to nought. She just stood there agape for a moment, too terrified to move. She knew that none of the servants could have caused such phenomenon, which frightened her more.

She wasn't thinking now, she ran to the door and shakily unlocked the it. She ran out into the black corridor and headed towards the stairs that lead ascended to the upper floors. She knew that the only place she could run too where she would feel safe was up there. At first she had no idea why she would run upstairs in a house that was causing her such terror, but then as she panted at the beginning of a corridor at the top, she worked out why. At the end of this corridor was Alex's room. He insisted on staying so high up in the house in case anything needed to be looked at on the roof, due to the high winds outside. The other men had scoffed at his plan, but Elise permitted him to stay wherever he wished.

After that afternoon they spent together, she had been caught under his spell.

She would have allowed him anything he desired.

The remembrance brought a blush to her face and she raised an icy hand to her cheek to quell it. He would understand if she woke him at such an hour, wouldn't he? She didn't care.

Her skin tingled and became prickly as she the notion of being watched swept through her veins. She walked slowly down the corridor, cursing inwardly at her lack of night vision as she cast her eyes about the walls and floor she was traversing.

She had no idea what she was looking for, but the dread continued to well up in her heart, so much so that she clutched both her hands to her now heaving breast.

Something touched her back and she let out a loud scream of utter fright and leapt two paces forward "who is there?" she asked in English, being in the frame of mind to speak it as she was on her way to see Alex.

Nothing.

"Qui est là?" she repeated in French and still nothing.

A door at the end of the corridor crept open, flooding part of it with light. The silhouetted shape of Alex stood in it, looking at her.

"Did I hear you scream?" he asked, half awake.

"Alex!" she exclaimed "There is something here!" she trembled, her breath audible and terrible.

"What is?" he asked as he began to walk down to where she stood.

"S-s-something touched my back….something made my room shake a-a-a-and there w-was this terrible roaring s-sound as though someone was angry and then in pain. Alex…" she managed, her voice failing her constantly.

"It's alright Elise" he soothed as he approached her.

Alex looked down the corridor behind her. It was black and shapeless, then, just out of the corner of his eye, he saw something green-grey materialise a few feet behind her. At this point he stopped dead in his tracks and mirrored Elise's terrible expression. He strode forwards and took hold of her by both her shoulders, not taking his eyes from the misty mass behind her.

"W-w-what are you looking at!" she rasped, walking into him and wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing her eye's shut.

"Nothing" he said weakly, turning in her arms to walk back towards his room, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders to guide her.

They quietly walked into Alex's warm and bright room. He pulled away from her and closed the door quietly, staring at the handle for a moment before quickly locking it and stepping away.

Elise opened her eyes slowly due to the change from dark to light and stood still in the middle of the room, looking back at Alex.

"That was an interesting experience" he remarked, still looking at the door.

Elise burst out laughing, followed by Alex.

Neither knew why they laughed, but they laughed hard and long, no doubt due to utter relief. When they calmed down, Elise suddenly and quite noticeably blushed.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, placing his hands on his hips and eyeing her cautiously.

"It is just that I suddenly realised where I am and how am I dressed. I must apologise. I was in such a panic."

Alex smiled warmly at her, which made her overt her eyes to the floor and blush to an even deeper shade of red.

"Right" he motioned with one hand towards the door "do you want to go down and change then? I'm sure the coast is clear."

She had no idea if he was in jest or in earnest, but her eyes flew open at the suggestion.

"I am not going out there again! Not at least until dawn!" she exclaimed, fear tingeing her voice.

Alex at that moment regretted the suggestion and decided to take her mind of the entire strange experience.

He smiled at her again, warmer and brighter than ever, making her turn a satisfactory shade of scarlet. This made him giggle inwardly, as it was like a game now to just look at her in a certain way and she would blush profusely.

His theory had always been that if a girl blushed at you over something as insignificant as a smile, then she was most likely embarrassed because she was attracted to you. That was his thoughts at least.

In the sitting room that one afternoon where they had first properly met, he had looked deep into her eyes and knew at that moment she wanted him – not just in a wanton, sexual sense, but that she just wanted _him_. If a maid had not come in at that exact moment to deliver a telegram from her father, he knew he would have kissed her there and then.

That incident seemed like a lifetime ago now. They had hardly seen each other since, despite so few staff and the building being closed up in the most part. He had spent a lot of time on minor repairs, whilst his strength held out and she stayed firmly in doors, tidying and cleaning with the remaining maids.

Now she was stood in her night dress in his bedroom after having quite an unnerving experience, blushing vividly every time he smiled at her. Her eyes now were looking at the floor, as she clearly did not know what to do with herself.

"My Mam always told me that we shouldn't be afraid of the dead, only the living" Alex remarked, hoping to diffuse some of the tension that was now starting to feel uncomfortable as it floated about the room.

"Alex?" she asked, looking him in the eye "May I please sit down? I'm a bit shaken and I am still rather cold".

Alex wanted to kick himself. He had stood there, thinking of himself and his own feelings, without once thinking about her. He nodded and smiled shyly, motioning for her to sit in the battered old chair that helped make up the paltry furniture in his room.

Alex went to his bed and pulled off a thick woollen blanket and passed it to Elise, who gratefully took it. She looked up into his eyes once again, and when he smiled at her again, she did not blush.

"This chair is awful" she said, keeping his gaze captive "do you not have somewhere more comfortable for me to sit until dawn?" she smiled back at him, but it was a peculiar smile as the corners of her mouth were only slightly raised. He would have said it was a suggestive look if he didn't know better.

Alex nodded to her, trapped by her eyes as he had been on so many times; whenever they were in the same room together. He raised his hand and pointed towards his bed and without a word, she took his hand and lead him to it.

His heart began to thud fast and no doubt audibly. She didn't seem to notice at all. His brain tried to think of something nonchalant to say in this situation as they sat down on his bed, her hand still holding his, the blanket he offered her had simply fallen to the floor.

She stared deep and hard into his eyes and he tried with every ounce of strength he possessed to resit gathering her up in his arms and kissing her as passionately as he desired.

No words sprung to mind so he just sat next to her, lost in her beautiful eyes.

She reached up with her right hand and pulled his face towards hers, he did not resist. Then her mouth was on his.

It took him by surprise and his eyes widened at the sudden sensation of her lips against his. All he could hear was his heart thudding in his ears and he thought he would pass out if he did not give in now.

He grabbed her head with both hands and he began to kiss her back. Her mouth nudging his hungrily, as she ran her tongue over his lips to encourage him.

Alex had never kissed a girl before and had no idea what to do. Therefore, he was shocked to feel her lick him closed lips with her tongue. Did this mean she'd kissed someone before? He would find out later, he told himself.

When her tongue had retracted leaving him the opportunity to run his tongue along her lips, which came with the sudden sensation of her opening her mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss, which he did.

Their mouths moved frantically before the same notion spread to their hands. Alex pulled her round from the side of him, to sit on his lap, which to his surprise she not only did, but she also straddled him.

His hand held onto her thighs, as he felt her shift forward onto him until her hips were as close to his as they could be. He heard her moan gently as he slid her nightdress up her thighs, then stopping and resting his hands at the top of them.

Her hands were lost in his long, thick black hair and they pawed him and urged him to keep hold of her and to carry on.

She pulled away from him, and he looked up into her eyes, they were half open, but spoke to him of nothing but desire – the fright seemingly long forgotten. He looked at her mouth, which was now swollen and red and partly open, making her breath audible and hot against his face.

"I want you" she murmured to him, underlining her meaning by kissing him long and deeply, then pulling away again to look into his eyes once again.

"Please" she whispered, kissing him once again then adding "Please Alex… I have wanted you since the moment I saw you. I love you Alex" she kissed his forehead "I love you".

Alex had no idea how to respond to what she just said. She – what? Wait. She loved him? From what he could see it was lust that shone in her eyes, not love and he would not simply have her because she thought she loved him and that was a good enough reason to justify it. Was she just saying this so that they could make love without feeling guilty?

Alex just could not go any further with it.

He looked down to where his hands were and pulled her nightdress back over her thighs, ignoring the delicious sensation of her skin against his. He bowed his head down away from her and gently pushed her back to simply sitting next to him on the bed.

He looked over at her and felt utter agony to see her head was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. He reached out to touch her and the moment his touch was registered by her skin, she shifted away from him.

Hurt cursed through his veins and stabbed at his heart and he grimaced to himself.

"Elise" he whispered softly, but she ignored him.

"Elise, please listen to me. You've misunderstood me" he began to explain, which made her head rise and look at him.

"Don't" she spoke barely louder than a whisper.

"I have been a fool" she stifled another sob "You think I am some silly girl with a crush on you that will melt away with this snow. You think I'm too forward and you are right. I am. But I am passionate and I did not know how else to show you how much I want and love you" she sighed "I have never done this before".

She turned her face away and looked towards the window so he could not see her face. She let out tiny moans that sounded stuck and stranded in her throat as she desperately tried to keep some composure as her heart broke.

"Elise. Listen to me" he coaxed, but she would not turn to face him, until he grabbed her arm and with a little bit of force, he turned her around. Her face was swollen with crying and thick hot tears rolled down her face. The image that filled his vision caused him pain like he had never experienced. He loathed himself for making her cry.

"Elise… Do you remember when I was ill and you tended to me?" he began, feeling her relax a little.

"Yes" she replied quietly, unsure where this was leading.

"I thought I was dead, or dying, and that were an angel" he paused as the sadness in her eyes dissipated slightly.

"I could not believe that you were human because you were so beautiful"

Her chin trembled and fresh tears poured from her eyes.

"When I found out that you were real, that you were the girl who had watched me as I arrived… I could not believe it. I could not believe you existed and that you lived here. When Hortense told me to keep you company, I was terrified. I was so nervous. How I managed to get to the parlour without passing out I will never know Elise, because I was shaking like a leaf."

Tears still flooded down her face, dripping from her chin.

"Do not _ever_ for one moment doubt that I do not love you, because Elise, I do"

He took hold of her in his arms and they held each other tightly.

"I love you Alex" she said into his hair as her face lowered to rest her head on his shoulder. "Please do not doubt me either because of my youth or how forward I am. I adore you. Oh Alex… Alex".

Alex turned to kiss her hair, breathing in its sweet scent and closing his eyes.

"I love you Elise" he said softly "come on, you must be tired by now, I know I am. What ever went on out there in that corridor was possibly gods way of moving things along a bit, otherwise we'd have been stuck forever flirting".

She raised her head and smiled into his eyes. She loved the way he would always try and see a bright side to everything.

"I am tired Alex. I know I'm being forward again, but, can we please sleep together in the same bed? I just want you to hold me when I fall asleep and hold me when I wake".

"Oh I don't know about that cocker" he quipped and saw the slightly confused look on her face which he knew signalled that he'd said something strange to her.

"What is a cocker?" she asked wryly.

"Cocker is another Lancashire word which means, erm, dear? It's just a universal endearment."

"Cocker" she repeated to herself and smiled at the word. Alex chuckled at her, amused by her French accent taking on such an regional dialect.

"Well, Cocker" she said, much to his amusement "let us sleep". He nodded, standing up to blow the candles out and then they both got into the small and narrow bed. Alex lying on his back, with Elise on her side, snuggled into his arms.

"I could get used to this" said Alex, bringing one of her hands to his mouth and kissing it gently.

"Don't worry, you will" replied Elise, closing her eyes feeling the happiest she had ever been.

------------------------------------------------

Bizarre as it is, I actually based some of this scene on a dream I had a few weeks ago. It just seemed like a rather Shakespearean notion to add the supernatural into a piece of prose in order to get our two young lovers together, it was rather 'The Tempest' of me, which is also my favourite Shakespeare play.

Cocker is in fact a Lancashire endearment and is not rude in anyway.

For you non-brits, Lancashire is a large county in the north of England. I'm from a neighbouring county called Merseyside, which is the home of Liverpool. St. Helens used to be part of Lancashire until 1975 when they changed the borders to try and make Lancashire smaller as it was too big. T'was woe that day for the locals.


End file.
